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A ghostly white cat scuttles for safety
From the traitorous moon's reflection while
I sit, hidden in the darkness, and smoke.
Black men walk the street and cross
When they notice me, a white woman, sitting
Alone on the stoop. They don't want trouble.
None of us wants trouble – not the cat,
Not the black men, not me. I want to live
Bare-footed and dance in a meadow.
Instead buildings stand shoulder to shoulder
And crowd me, push me, smother me with
Their occupants' conversations and shouts.
I was born to walk barefoot on grass, yet
My journey has brought me to this godless
Urban forest where even the cats live in fear.
I stroll through the garden to relax
(And to give the black men respite from
Local cultural expectations that I don't expect)
And I sway in the darkness, hidden from
The treacherous moon's light, and I dance
As a loving wind brushes my hair with his lips.
This ephemeral moonlight ballet will sustain me
Through another month of imprisonment in this
Strange cold place called the city.
~~by Ginger Hamilton
I now have stories available on Amazon.com! Click here to see the list. Will be uploading more as time permits. And as always, thank you for reading my work.~~GH
[Tomorrow: Paradelle for the Mentally Ill]
2 comments:
Thank you for this.. it is very close to my feelings having been deported from my home, husband, doggies and land we lived on not to mention a community I loved.. to be sent back to a town now imprisoned in a concrete, but luxury flat, taking care of my oldies.. I miss walking barefoot on the earth. You captured this beautifully.. good luck with your poetry.. with love sunny x
Oh, Sunny! Your comment deeply touches my heart. It is such a painful situation, to pine for Nature and one's lost relationship with Her.
I hope you will soon enough be able to feel your bare feet on the earth.
Love,
Ginger
September 7, 2013
*hugs*
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