Between hope and sorrow found in spirituals played in minor keys dwells a note releasing the captives into a sweet place of freedom. The doe keeps her head down eating the sweet and desired delicacies from neighborhood flower beds while the owners sleep the sleep of the dead. A return to correct ways of living postponed by a prodigal display of fragile members demanding an accounting of the lost ages lives only in the dreams of beggars.
Category Archives: Poetry
My poetry. Mostly Collects
Really?
Don't need to buy into it. Just be fully engaged. Use it for the sake of the process.
Enough
"Well, alrighty then." - Sydney Marie Brotheridge b. December 28, 1995 d. June 9, 2018 Is the death of a daughter a fable or a myth Or a reality of grief that inflates one moment And then, after enough tears have dropped, Subsides into an uncomfortable calm Holding a picture with my arm Around her alive, smiling-faced body? Is the resting of my head on her shoulder Outside a skating rink during a birthday Celebration enough to protect her And, as often as I smile with her smile Or her smiling with my smile, can it happen All the time and everywhere? Is there enough time and can it be measured Between the first time I held this delicate child With a lifetime ahead of her and the last time I held her in Dar es Salaam as she breathed Her last breath perhaps hearing me whisper, “You are loved, Sydney Marie”? Is there a way to find a completely different Way with which to examine attachment To a life filled with enough demons of despair And with enough angels of shining brilliance, To find a way forward and not necessarily through Or over the abyss of deep hurt and great loss? Is the answer to the great question of Being Found in the act of a tiny body laid out On a stretcher being taken to the morgue Or in a ceremony at the foot of a mountain With enough gathered loved ones and friends Mourning a life joyfully lived and now complete?
Why not tell me?
Because. Because we have a protocol to follow. Because resistance grieves me. Because I don't want to participate. Because it is against my belief. Because my health does not allow me. Because someone is listening to us. Because the metaphor doesn't make sense. Because we are still walking the privilege walk. Because the root cause has not been found. Because the devotion of others has waned. Because power has not been shared. Because you shouldn't be in the loop. Because I don't have time. Because.
Sometimes it helps
I said, "Sometimes it helps to get way off topic after a rushed beginning." She said, "It also helps to know where on life's infinite continuum one resides in care." I thought aloud, "Or at least to find a place to speak your word." She laughed, "I thought you were going to say, 'Speak your truth.'" Smiling, I replied, "And then we would be lost trying to find the story of responsibility." She asked, "Whatever happened to reminder postcards sharing ideas for next steps towards accountability?"
For they are not permitted to speak… – 1 Corinthians 14:34
As you began the conversation long ago, Divine, speak us into being once again, for the self-made gods have declared and said who can and who cannot speak in this world at this time and in this place. Amen.
To change daily space
To change daily space to brave space ensuring safety rather than comfort where young people, not interested in training but in knowing who controls the narrative, toil to reclaim stories stolen from human families and affirm the truth that we all stand on the shoulders of the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us.
Living Continues…
most chanting stops when bombs fall on the roof incarnatio continua each fall the prairie medley of goldenrod and purple aster dazzles me incarnatio continua it is impossible not to notice the almost imperceptible debasement of falling mortals incarnatio continua gusts of wind carry falling leaves higher than treetops incarnatio continua how many times has the youngest daughter fallen to rise with bleeding knees incarnatio continua
To Do
take a breath and write a list where nobody is at risk be thankful for not all are ready for change wait until disappointment sheds itself of unused furniture create dissonance so comfort gives way to safety
Paved Over
Trails connect trails through these woodlands walked from period to period, paleo to post-modern. Treaties have made the steps easier for some and more painful and deadly for those who shared the space for living their lives. Slick service and bringing in the lead and gold prevailed over values told and possibilities for calls of patience and comfort. Now, this place is paved for parking lot conversations held by those who say they need no refuge but continue to ask, How does everybody feel?
A Thread You Follow 