Thursday, March 22, 2012

occupy red-clay

Layers upon layers of mush and black dirt
to comfort us. Ready to
after waiting.

they say she's an ol' libber, free of
freed from
days when Hot Pink
meant a chair down the hall and
shared coffees, watching
as the powerful played.

they say
a Young Pink once thanked her ~
Pink reared in deeply southern water-soil
thanked her for kicking around a bit
the solemn Blue-ties
for standing with sisters many
so that now the breeze is easy,
any one can grow
and now
Pinks flock with Blues, Oranges, the Violet, the Umber
and soils are blended,
bountiful in loam.

1 comment:

Krystyna Lagowski said...

Wonderful, lyrical work. Makes me feel like I'm in the country ... wish I were, on such a gorgeous day ...