by Gabriella Garofalo
Grieve not, sister, for the invisible,
The hard-toiling wind, the grass hikers trample,
Death’s ashen brother, the sleep,
Don’t fall prey of tangled thoughts,
You know she has an attitude
And gives it the large, you know her –
Trust me, soon the mist will rise
From the blind, the leaves
And drive us down a light breeze
Where white stars wander through the garden paths:
We’ll be home at midnight sharp to shelter
A naked flame against spreading branches,
Invasive flowers, all gone astray the bloody truths,
The trees, the ships, in deference and awe
We’ll steal from life what she owes us,
The unrelenting past, the sodden years
And fling our souls to the sky just as ravens
Fly to the dreams the dead were force-fed
When begging at the gates.
Easy flesh? Amen, sister, amen.
Now, let’s cut it out and talk serious staff
Shall we let the snake in and get tense
On tough questions and intrusive remarks
Or have just a few words with the bouncers?
But what if the newlyweds in love
Go all mushy gushy and sneak him in?
Gosh, it might trash the garden party
With the poshest mobs having a blast
Among flowerbeds, striped marquees,
Lovely gazebos, champagne, oysters, small talk –
The garden, yes, the good ol’ stuff –
Funny God never stroke a matricide dead,
Funny the revelation never pushed the skies
Against the fires of a November afternoon –
Funny the golden gates are locked,
Hey-ho, outsiders can only stare
At the forbidden romps, if they are lucky,
Even get a glimpse of some orchids
Tainted with scars and red –
A Cain’s mark, perhaps?
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing