Cloud Nines

I tell myself-
I have to brainstorm:

write things in little clouds on paper
draw lines from cloud to cloud like arms,
great ideas holding hands at the weight of too many words,
fill them as if those words will later fall like rain and wet the dry land of my mind.
Poems like daisies will appear.
Poems that others will want to pick fresh from my ground
and show their beauty to the rest of the world.

Shame

She came from a broken home
where quarters were diamonds
and her parents were split into two different classes
Each class taught her the same,
there's shame in asking for help.

This shame-
dirty as the coins she would dig up
shines like a new penny in a world of want for nothing.
She's covered in copper worth
as taught by the cents-less lessons of her parents.


She's in a recession that began at birth
Taught that this rot, deep down
means she's not good enough.
Somewhere she didn't try hard enough,
that when things got rough-
she needed to be even stronger.


Today, she digs up those coins, digs up the shame
and spreads them across the counter
counting
her blessings that today she is not on the streets
and while her parents refuse to show defeat
she's doing it on her own.
This has humbled her,
this little girl,
now grown and full of self-worth.

Wounded

Her daughter's hand, gentle,
fingers soaked with witch hazel
remove this defeat ridden bandage.


Her mother's skin
so delicate now,
an oil soaked potato chip
heavy with toxins.


With each square of gauze she removes a piece of herself,
each bandage a letter in her title as daughter.

Ghost Orchid

Ghost Orchid pale like
death. In first bloom of it's life
can be so haunting.