If it were about cake

If this were about cake
and just that and fondant
with matching figures on top
pouring sugared acceptance
like libation into those small pans
I’d say buy another
somewhere else
and don’t demand it

but this cake is less rolled icing
and more symbol
which tastes bitter to some
as they bake it

and far sweeter
to simply eat.

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For RA

in that model
he made of the universe
there was no room
for truth, only conjecture

temporary guesses
about what’s live in the space
between words
and metronomes pulse

ironic, how the man who didn’t believe anything
but had many suspicions
has the answers now

and isn’t talking

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78 cents

I want those 22 cents per dollar
some man made more than me
for that precise thinking, for that same lifting,
for my exact educational level
and similar scrubbing–money lost
for every second of life worked

I want to be buried in pennies
so I know how much less weight
I was given, how much less force,
how much purchase power bled away
with menses and led to poverty of power

and then I want to spend those pennies,
not on makeup, or rent, or toothpaste, or chicken
at the store; not on car repairs
or nylons, or chewing gum

no, I want those 25 years of 22 cents per dollar
to go elsewhere, those combined pennies
spent on new glasses, so I can see clearly
past my own borders, into the lives
of  women and girls, who live
in parts of the world where
to be born female
is worse than a prison sentence,

where they are bought, sold, traded,
owned, murdered,maimed, secluded,
and devalued far more than 22 cents on a dollar
so I can raise my voice
to change something far more important
than 22 pennies

if I could just see it

***This is not to say that US women should not be concerned about equal pay, not at all.  I just want us to use this anger over inequity here as a force to effect change globally, where it is desperately needed.  Also, this figure has been disputed and spun every which way, and is now purportedly up to 70 cents on the dollar.

I don’t want to argue about the stats in here.  This is a rework of a poem from 2012 for today’s NaPoWriMo prompt, which asked us to write poetry somehow involving money.

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Monday Aubade

I’ve not watched sunrise
with you, or even seen
those first pale fingers
twist in your hair
alongside the silver
because before dawn
our house is a litany
of silenced alarms
and snooze buttons
burned toast

and looking towards the east
not for the sun
but the dawn
of a yellow school bus

***getting a little silly this morning.  It is Monday, after all, and pre-coffee.  Happy NaPoWriMo.

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It mostly snows
in Buffalo
Easter Sunday

My mother blamed it on resurrection
in an uncertain season
or the inconsistency
of things passing over.

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Love Poem

For Eulonia

If I were a ladybug
I would marry you
in your constant opening to air;
my 12 footprints
tracking pollen across our moss bed,
these antenna 2 quills
shaped to scribe your sweet
with nectar ink.

I would across kingdoms
shout a vow too large
for one small voice;

A promise of passion
that can only be collective
and rooted, the way seeds
and hemolymph sing it.

I will lay eggs
under your leaves
and our children
will speak of our blooming
the way myths are made.

***NaPoWriMo day 4 asks us to write a love poem without the word in it.  As this was my fixation a few years ago, I reworked one of my favorite drafts.  Love, ladybug style. You really should check out the poem that inspired this on Eulonia’s blog, if it is still out there.

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you break everything
except me

the vacuum’s cracked housing
substitutes for bones

the dishwasher doesn’t drain its secrets
so stink we don’t speak of

bleeds across the floor

the microwave clock has a short
so time in this house breaks, stacatto

and needs fixing

*** for napowrimo day 3, we are writing about machines.  I chose domestic ones and this darkness spewed out.

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