Pull away the dark screen of impossibility,
the veil where the future lies—you stand a recluse,
shrunken holding a small child. It is not as if
you’ve wasted a life, bring yourself to the curtain
open it, let light illuminate the wrinkles in your skin,
the sheer weight age causes. Our luminaries use Botox
but we, ordinary citizens, move free with our
un-paralyzed faces drooping with sincerity.
The elites use elevated language, pedantic, their smile
fixed behind a veil. Is our future a lost frontier?
The child withers from political posturing, slips from arms,
falls like a heavy basket of potatoes onto cement.
Grandmothers carry the burden. Lost respect a knife
that escapes no women. Sleepwalk into the future,
rest awhile—sit on a bench, take a penetrable pause,
a mosquito lands to find blood, a lioness crouches,
every muscle in her pounce-pose exacting the perfect
moment to kill, her babies will be fed.
Hold still before speaking, immunity waits,
self aggrandizing imposes impossibilities
only the common woman will overcome.
Photo Credit: Phototravelography Flickr via Compfight cc
