A hap hazardous Conglomeration Existing in bits and pieces Of broken memory. One in particular
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
Father and Son - A little laughter In his eyes - Austere and Refined ever as his Son is beaming -
Saved – a family Treasure – a family Heirloom never found - A gay uncle – socialist - Some called a terrorist -
Her name is Mother. Sun gleams in her eye A red hijab loosely tied Around her head - A revelation of face
They came to me in my dreams The gray lapping onset of flotsam On the shore – whirls, strands of color cemented
A speculation on the power of the vial In her hands – would it have occurred - A dark thought brimming at the surface -
Peacock feather moon sets on her Solitary, red rose – a delightful muse - She sits one the crescent’s edge,
They would Come for me in My dreams - Hoards with large yellow eyes, Ravenous gnashing teeth -
Hand of God Red, leathery skin A small fire of each pore The eyes In the center with words in black
Her sister waits Smoke zig-zags Over the din – an Uneven billiard board Whose balls fall into the south
Armed not with that ravenous appetite Of bloodlust, of us, us. The humming leading to glorified murder – but a camera.
A table with a white-bellied orchid Leans against a black stick holding it up from treacherous gravity. Vines, sparce plants reveal through the large windows
