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Haiku

Like fish that can’t sing,

We want what we can’t/don’t have.

Unrequited love.

Sara Risley

08.28.2018

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I Hear Their Words

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Old Glory

I sit on my balcony in the shade of dusk.                                                      Across three interstate ramps,                                                                              Two eastbound, one west,                                                                                    The tall buildings patina under the copper gaze of the retreating sun.

The clouds to the east, over the lake, are dappled pink Foreshadowing/previewing tomorrow’s dawn.                                                    To the west, the interstate ramp signs are silhouetted                                          By the fading orange of the day.

Atop the gas company building,                                                                        The last flag in the skyline,                                                                                  Half-masted for yet another mass shooting,                                                      One of so many that few recall which one,                                                            Is gorgeously backlit like an international supermodel.                                          It is waving in the evening breeze and is, in itself, glorious.                          Picture worthy/selfie worthy.

In spite of the country for which it stands.

In spite of the country’s people who wave it in the name                                    Of supremacy and march with another flag in the name of free speech            But then deny another person                                                                              His free speech rights to kneel in rejection of that glory                                  Which has still not yet reached                                                                              All of the country’s people.                                                                                  Not yet.

It waves in glory                                                                                                      In spite of a man being shot in his own yard holding a cell phone In the dark. Dusk gone.                                                                                                            Sun gone.                                                                                                          Father, son, lover.                                                                                                Gone.                                                                                                                    At the hands of those sent to protect and serve.                                              Those who sport that glorious flag on their shoulders                                      Even as they justify their acts                                                                              Of murder,                                          ��                                                                     In the name of that country, that glorious flag.

It waves in glory                                                                                                  Even as the country rejects, cages, ignores, and abuses                              People asking for help                                                                                        Even as we rip children from the loving                                                            Arms of their mothers                                                                                          And steal fathers away from their homes.                                                            To save our glorious flag from the “infestation”                                                    Of people who just want to work,                                                                      who just want to feed their families                                                                        who just want to be safe from rape and violence                                              who believe in the glory of that flag,                                                                        The promise of that country for which it stands.

In spite of all that.

I cannot believe in the glory of that flag.

I cannot believe in the glory of a flag                                                                That does not fly for everyone it supposedly represents                                  That looks on some people as more equal than others                                    That turns its back on people who do believe in that flag and                            The country for which it stands.

The sun is gone.  The glorious flag hangs limp.

I cry.

Sara Risley                                                                                              07.05.2018

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A haiku for 45 who is in my city today.

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When I Read These Things

by Sara Risley .                                                                                                    April 2018

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She Writes

I have been inspired to write lately.  Perhaps a new muse has entered my life or I desire a new voice of expression.  Either way, I expect to post the results here. First up is a poem that came to me in a rush after reading several print works of a friend.  I was thinking of them as i walked the beach at sunset one night last spring and returned to my laptop and this spilled out. Please feel free to leave a comment or message me through Facebook or here.