(Inspired by events written in Susan Kay’s novel
The blossoms, so tenderly cared for,
lay in strangers’ hands.
The most handsome were taken away
by scavenging neighbors.
The others were left to wilt and perish.
How the buds flourished
under the care of a somber man,
a man simply trying to forget a boy-
a boy who’d blossomed under another man-
an uncompromising man.
A rigid man with little conception
of how to raise a boy to know a father,
but a man with many sectarian convictions.
And with much knowledge of
torturing a flowering man-
A sorrowful man who’d spent his days
tending the garden.
How he cherished the blooms.
And though their radiance was grand,
they were hardly enough to replace a son.
stand side by side, connected throughout but for a yawning divide.
Ancient oaks flourish,
their roots grown through cleaves. The electric rails’ current moves ‘neath a quilt of leaves.
The archaic and modern
with one another stand on this soggy crescent- a sacred and debauched land.
Tiny trapeze artists
Creating your own hanging bars
By which you travel
Eight legged acrobats
No need for a catch net
Performing your art
Across my bathroom ceiling
White Fluffy Pillows
Puffy or Flat
Can Make For Wet Weather
Makes Visibility Vexing
Lay Near to the Earth
Give Nimbostratus Wide Berth
Cumulonimbus's High Thunderheads
Pay Homage to a Norse God
Whose Lightning Bolts
And Remaining Outdoors
Requires Grave Consideration
“Baobab Tree And Fruit Watercolor” by vectorolie via http://freedigitalphotos.net
The Baobab Tree
She pressed her palms against the ancient oak.
Spanish moss hung down
grey and curly, like the hair of an elder woman she once knew.
Rivulets of blood stained the bark,
hundreds of stains mingled,
the essences of a hundred men and women.
She remembered the baobab tree in her village,
the one where the children prayed.
The community matriarch told tales of ghouls,
white, snatching their people up,
violating their women and girls.
Their men were roped like the beasts
that stalked the edges of their village in the night.
The baobab tree witnessed it all-
the ghouls with their explosive weapons shouting.
The ancient oak wept blood.
The baobab wept, too.
Donnell Creppel 2016