PEACE: WHAT IF…

Dry tortugas

What if Peace was publicly traded

In every heart and highly rated

 

At the center on a trading floor

Waved slips for goodwill, ceasefires and more

 

What if Peace invested care

Opened hearts with earnings per share

 

What if Peace paid interest high

In harmonious treaties to ratify

 

Peace will need to be monetized

IPOs will be highly prized

     

Peace could trade in open exchange

Swords for ploughshares to be arranged

 

Peace stock values will rise with belief

No house of cards, dishonesty ceased

No slim margin in which to trade

All activity above moral grade

 

 But…

Peace is too polite to nail and rend

Old Wall Street brokers for their dividends

 

 

 

 

MEMORY: A Necessary Struggle

 BPK sunset

Yesterday my husband put the app *Shazam on my cell phone

(*A method of identifying music simply by holding the phone

Up to a speaker to catch the song’s lyrics)

I left the room defeated and purposeless

Something else for which my brain does not have to work

There are days taken up in battle with forgetfulness

Days that end in celebration of memory’s grace

Now, what will I do

To replace that struggle

With a memory reticent

Holding on to those

Blessings only

To let go

In the upwelling of silence

In rooms wallpapered with lyrics that sing

The long fable of my youth

THE FERRY TO THE DRY TORTUGAS

Dry tortugas

 

 

 

 

Seats (the best) on the top deck

Draped with posh hotel

Towels – pulling double duty saving and drying the seat for

The entitled; the family of five with a guest

 

Middle age couple #1 she holding desperately his hand

He looking like he stole time

Deciding on the white island linen shirt

The #2 she, face a beautiful forlorn ruin looking

Into the shoulder she married.

A shoulder that is turned away from her

As her husband talks across his son’s girlfriend (who feigns sleep)

Explaining something

Important (?) to his namesake

 

The young pale and married couple next to us Russian (?)

He sits away from the rays reading a thick paperback

She sits yoga in the sun

 

Two lovers at the rail; beautiful

Unnoticing of the lame (who are now walking)

And the blind (who are now seeing)

When he of receding hairline & confidence

grabs at her hips

She shimmy’s away

Ignorant of the finite attracting powers of good skin

She stands away a bit – the coy mistress, eyeing him

As the lusty gulf wind whips at her hem

Revealing everyone’s wish

 

BIG PINE KEY

BPK vultures

The vultures have been hovering over the island for weeks now

Swirling in great black theatrical wakes

A pre-migration event I am told

I am just now noticing the ugly

Close scrutiny over the streets and inlets

The search for dead flesh in the untrodden grounds

Divorced from Key West bound traffic

Maybe the vultures know something we don’t

That we are simply players in that Twilight Zone episode;

Humans imprisoned by personal need

To escape a turn-of-the-century Salvation Army toy chest

Alive until touched by strange hands

Becoming wooden & rotten

Death by ownership

 

Maybe the vultures know this

Which is why they stay

THE MUSEUM OF LOVE AND UNDERSTANDING

red door

Where we keep our humanity

Hermetically sealed

And in the future they will come

Down long google-glassed tunnels

To collect artifacts

Heartless facts from

Our artless landmarks

Blind to the act:

Giving succor to the enemy

Night on the battlefield when mountains

Of hatred became mere

Mounds over which we stumbled with gifts

The weight of humanity too great

Too heavy for the light of day

A light used to make way for

The resumption of war