Spring
Year of the Dog
So many powerful and pynk and light and blue and dark and every color splattered on the paper, the paper grabbed from the trash,
the bones, the dirty bottom, sticky, bottom of the gooey, slimy, bottom of the trash can with maggots, white and feasting on the waste of us all, thrown wantonly into the barrel without a thought for tomorrow or the kids and grandkids and plants and fruit and green and red and yellow and purple vegetables of the future.
Out of this waste of human talent, waste of humanity and no investment are
these women roaring and spreading and opening and singing and speaking and loving and struggling and crouching and fatiguing and laboring and
barking
barking our truth to the ever world
to see where it goes
to the future? to the waste?
to the landfill or the ocean
or to the children, as their voices bounce off our chests and rise to the sky
and fly
butterfly
spring
