If there are any heavens
my mother will all by herself
have one.
It will not be a pansy heaven
nor a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley.
It will be a heaven of solid yellow roses
with sturdy thick notched stems
not prone to bending.
The blooms will be embarrassingly,
Sinfully fragrant, the size of
baseballs when fully blazing.
They’ll radiate light in their yellowness and
never die.
When did everyone start washing with Purell
Every time you turn around?
As if we could prevent anything.
Stop germs
if they have any interest in us
whatsoever.
When did greeting cards start costing 12 dollars,
for real.
No one else notices:
The guy in front of me buys four.
Unfazed.
And while I’m at it
When
Did it become a crime to dress.
You’re so dressed up,
spat out
like the worst possible indictment,
And there is me.
The unforgivable,
in heels, and ok,
maybe
a sequined brooch.
Always be a poet. Even in prose.
— Charles Baudelaire.
In essence I am a storyteller who writes poems. Put simply, I write the poems I want to read.[…]
A sequence of my poems has been published in a hardcover book entitled The Music of Leaving Poems by Tricia McCallum
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Thanks for sharing