WHAT OTHERS SHUNNED

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Sister, perverse mother, warrior aunt.

Excavating your elongated skull.

 

Proto-Neolithic. Bone-like bouffant.

Your queer bones. Were my ancestors hostile

 

when they first met you? Scared of the Other?

I come from a long line of primitive

 

hunters and gatherers. We turned trader,

farmer, and afraid. You could be massive,

 

berserk, lascivious if you wanted.

Now you’re gone, leaving only your ruined

 

skull, claws and myth. I live with mystery

all the time, but you confuse me. Your blood

 

is not mine, yet I love what others shunned,

be you fiend or saint, friend or enemy.

FOLIAGE BEARS US ILL WILL

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With your mad colors, your multiple inks;

henna could only dream of the dark hues

 

that you inhabit. I’ve had my pinks,

my oaks and walnuts, my skimpy sky blues

 

and wash-out reds. But burly green? “Green, green,

how I love you.” Green is the underworld

 

of all colors. It’s Hades, the obscene

door to Hell, it’s the Devil’s swamp, all swirled

 

with the bayou, rekindled with venom.

Green is death, it reminds us that foliage

 

bears us ill will. Do not blame green for your

woe. Green doesn’t care. It’s mad as Bedlam.

 

Heady as wormwood. Cryptic as language.

Wise as rolling hills. Foolish as liqueur.