Archive for October 2011

Stream of Occupation, Occupy Santa Fe, 2011   Leave a comment

 When the poor have
 nothing left to eat,
 they'll eat the rich.
                  A sign at Occupy Santa Fe, 2011

there is a sound the big dog's paws make
crossing the gravel
the sound of her football
as she lowers her head
lets the ball drop to the ground
like watching a film image
more real than life

bodies that ache from hurry all week
now slow into the drift of yellow leaves
thoughts of a country not caring for its own
mix with the view of a guitarist
setting her tip jar on the grass

I think of never leaving this moment
of everyone doing the best they can

My friend says,
Everyone is doing the best they can

What of Hemingway, drunk in the middle
of the night, seen on the dock
using the 500 pound marlin he'd
caught earlier that day as a punching bag?
  Yes, she says
How do you know he was doing the best he could?
  Why wouldn't he?

a raven presses black wings into the blue
three violins and a cello stroke all who listen
a white-haired lady hums
the daughter unclasps the old woman's necklace
turns it around
the old woman wonders aloud what's taking
the children so long and if she should walk
across the plaza to find them
old people worry about time
I miss my mother  I am beginning to worry about time

what if the birds stop singing?
have faith in good a mother says

a few years ago I would have called the men old
who sit on the park bench discussing
light through the trees    then politics
now I know they live somewhere between
 old to some, not old to others, and death

one man says to the other
I never planned on more doctors, surgery
the other man says
You never planned on sitting in the plaza
with an iced coffee on this day in October
never planned on filling the margins of your notebook
never penciled in sadness

I never knew my mother would live inside of me
never knew anguish and desire have the same face

a boy wearing camouflage ducks
as pink-footed pigeons dive-bomb the walkway
the two men joke with the child
"those birds couldn't see you"

the seriousness of his small face
I wish you could see his eyes

                    Mary Strong Jackson

Posted October 30, 2011 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Uncategorized

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