Bloodshed in three states in a week. Over twenty-nine dead in two cities within twenty-four hours. Three mass-shooters: only one alive and under arrest.
The arguments begin. The ones that insist military-grade weaponry belong with the military versus the ones screaming, “Don’t touch my guns!” A President of the United States that tweets “It’s the media’s fault,” before he addresses the nation to stiffly condemn white nationalism. An address he ends by saying “God Bless Toledo,” an Ohio city over 650 miles away from Dayton.
The strain of this. The to-do lists that creep up, even in the summer. Aching arms from lawn work. That sense of over-vigilance, of waiting for the next round to fall.
Amidst the storm, an island of calm in the backyard. Movement by movement, the yang style long form unfolds. Step by shifting-weighted step, stillness arises. Cicadas sing. The neighbors dog barks, whimpers, barks again. Two wind chime sounds as maple leaves flutter and branches sway.
a small, still voice, deep within, keeps whispering. This time, I may hear it.
I may listen.
and while this day passes
a rose bouquet fades
still the water is clear
when it settles at last
for dVerse poets’ Poetics: Purifying the Mind (pubtended by Linda Lee Lyberg). The Pub is open! Come join us!