Sunday, March 1, 2015

They Say

Photo by Kyla

Play the hand you're dealt.
This hand?
Callused, stained,
thumbing a scar? Or
this one, clutching a steel bar?
I'm lucky I won a corner spot.
This cage is small.
There's no lying down
except in shifts.
We keep our hands
to ourselves.

Brighten the corner where you are.
That was in a hymn.
My back rubs the bars, my ass
polishes the bare floor.
There's your brightening.
The sun hurts.
All day there's no place to hide.
Darkening my corner
is what I want but then
I have to watch for gleaming
bright eyes in the night.

Bloom where you're planted.
Once I'm planted I'll bloom.
Let me get there,
into some cool deep dirt
where I can spread out
where all this
will stop. Then, sure,
I'll bloom.
Send up a flower
before that, you say?
Oh yeah. Say that to my face.
Make my day. 

Photo by Kyla