ANNE WATSON
  • Home
  • About
  • Press
  • Contact
  • Home
  • About
  • Press
  • Contact

(w)rite
echolalia redacted


George Floyd, I'm sorry

6/18/2020

0 Comments

 
Picture
Afraid of the future, disappointed in the past, the present as elusive as a just world.
I ran to a Spanish desert
from cruelty, injustice, people,
fled with my sense of helplessness, ineffectualness, meaninglessness. Intimidated by hate. Afraid of civilization’s monsters. Ashamed that I am not David or anyone at all. That I am vulnerable and tired.
I cower in solitude.
A child looking through a crack in a door
as adults fight and the mean adult pushes the weaker, kinder adult against the hard edge of a suffocating knee, and going down the kinder adult, the gentle giant, takes the sheets and drapes and comforter and all the murdered innocents along. A flimsy torn, tired piece of cotton catches a candle’s flame. Fire crackles, cracks like a breaking windpipe, and consumes the room.  My hair catches fire
as I watch the room burn,
my daughter’s room,
her grandmother’s room,
her father’s room,
her granddaughter’s room.
The desert around me, dry and dark, is ready to burn as well.
For hope, the house comes down.


0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    Not really a Biography

    I have always been inclined to move forward, roll the stone, down, and often up, hills. I've tried to write through it all. Everything on this blog is written by me.

    Archives

    May 2021
    November 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    August 2019
    January 2019
    April 2018
    January 2018
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly