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submit to me - uncle toms cabin at had dam neck fair
April 7 Poem

How do you like my new boots?
I’ll bet it is quite easy to smell the
Hide shine from your vantage,
Sole pressing into your throat.

I’ve heard you have thoughts.
How interesting. When did that
Start happening? It’s all so
Untidy however. Sweep up.

Tonight we’re having roast.
You know how to do that right?
If you could, as well, mash the
‘Tatoes with the skin on.

Later, after you’ve washed up,
Perhaps we can go for a walk. You can
Carry me, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m so
Exhausted from mattering.

I am jealous. Who would not be? You
Sleep so soundly. I’ve been watching you win at
Slumber, mouth slack and wet.
In darkness seething: I am not you.


even just the
sight of water
is enough to
slow the galloping
pony inside.
She stops
to watch the branch
touch sunny ripples and
then
hardly hears her
thunder heart over
the sweet robin
singing.

I’m writing small stones as part of the January Mindful Writing Challenge. Please feel free to comment! And come read more small stones on Twitter.


No point in being mad at the
Lilypad. It has no idea what it is doing.

It’s not her fault she grows up
Out of the water, surrounding herself.

No point getting bent out of shape when you
Notice you are stuck there.

On that beautiful island, staring into the
Not too distant forest, trees obscured.

Now I’m ready to catch my dinner and after that,
I’ll just hang out, shredding this blame.

It’s not the lilypad’s problem. It’s not the
Fault of unreachable sky, or aloof forest

Or even the placid pond’s coldness. No one else
Owns this greenness,

But me
And the air right here.


One minute there was four of us
Together in the cold white room.
You cradled in daddy’s arms,
So foggy from the pain
Meds, but rumbling still
Your recognition.

Then two vials of liquid into
Your leg and
You are gone.
He holds his hand on your
Breast as if to insist you
Stay in this place but
It doesn’t work.

The doctor nods and whispers
You are gone but, already
I heard it. The dead silence.
The ceiling comes down.

The doctor takes you from
Us and I see your
Tail hanging from the
Green fleece.
No faith abides in
Anything beyond that
Vision.

Where did you go?