You, Bastard!

I watch you twitch in your dying bed and wonder if the sole of my left boot, pressed hard, hard… against the folds of your neck, would help the world (and me) breathe a little easier. But strangulation would take you from your children much too quickly. I will free you not from the scorn oozing out of their eyes, from the sight of the burdens you’ve filled their hearts with.

January weeps snow salt on Alan Rickman’s frozen smile. “Always”, she says, and clutches Snape tighter, his blood tattooing your greedy deed to her chest. February doesn’t cry; not with Leonard Nimoy no longer breathing in her arms. “I shan’t show any emotion, Mr. Spock”, she tells him, turning her rage into indifference that stinks of your hand. November kneels in a corner, face to the wall and back to you. His eyes are shut, and his right foot is in his mouth. Shame shrouds him, the thought of post-truth weights bigly on his spirit. He mumbles, “Yes, we can” and “I feel the Bern”, but doesn’t know what any of it means.

The rest of your brood sits with Death, Misery and Loss, all their hurting quiet, quiet, quiet… except, December’s—she has been possessed by the rebel fury of Princess Leia. Yes, she is the one kicking your skull, and shouting, “You, bastard!” No, she is not the one flipping you off, that’s The Force in Carrie Fisher… and in most of the feeling world.

die, old thief.
do some good, for once—
die alone

.
a wee note…
– Yes, my Wicked Luvs, I’m relieved to see 2016 go and hoping that 2017 will bring better things.
– Linked to Poets United (Poetry Pantry, 334)

I borrowed this inspiring (and rather telling) cartoon from Lalo Alcaraz

 

Adulting with Latinxs

Adulting: behaving in a way characteristic of a responsible adult. Glass Cliff: a situation in which a woman or member of a minority group ascends to a leadership position in challenging circumstances where the risk of failure is high. Latinx: a person of Latin American origin or descent, it is used as a gender-neutral or non-binary alternative to Latino or Latina. Wondering what’s up with this trio? Well, Mama Zen wants us to use them to write a poem in 70 words or fewer. So here is my bit:

“Adulting with Latinxs”

I can’t adult
without thinking,
Is this kinky? Or am I
looking too deep?
Have I risen
(or fallen
down) the glass cliff
and taken all
Latinxs with me?

I can’t say
“Latinxs” without giggling
(giggles!). The word
isn’t silly, but
adulting with Latinxs
leaves my Muse
giggly, and thinking,
The dictionary must be
nuts. That’s the world,
adulting and mad.

I can’t adult
without thinking,
This is nuts.

.
the wee notes…
– Yes, this one was a fun (and strange) bit to write. Did someone say Latinxs? (giggles!)
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Words Count with Mama Zen).


via

Sparkles and Hope

The shine in his eyes spoke of intensity born from new love, or old hate. “What has happened to you, Lamb?” She used to smile when he called her that. Now, she wanted to grab the word and ram it down his throat. “It was always you and me against this vermin-ridden world, my Lamb. When we met—”

“When we met, you promised to coat me with sparkles and fill me with hope,” she said. “I didn’t realize the sparkles would come from chains, or that the hope would seep into my bones through the holes you would stab into my flesh.” She watched her words skinning off pretense. Control was alien to his mask.

“You don’t know what you think you’re doing. You can’t win this game.” He took a step towards her.

She widened her stance and bared her teeth. “If you think this is a game, you should look again and try to figure out who the ignorant player might be. When we met, I said I was tired of being a slave to war and pain. I never meant that I wouldn’t fight for freedom.”

“Sit down, woman!”

The knife came out of nowhere. One moment, he was standing in front of her—lips puckered tightly and skin tinged with a sickly shade of rage—then blade and man rushed towards her, aiming for her womb.

Her body remembered. She placed one arm over the old scar, and used the other to smack him in the nose. “No,” she said, smacking him again when he tried to take another step. “No. You are done. Go.”

.
a wee note…

– Linked to The Twiglet #4 (“When we met”) and to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie #145.

“Painful”, by Natalia Drepina