Don’t Stop Me If You’ve Heard This Before

Don’t Stop Me If You’ve Heard This Before

the writer of Ecclesiastes knew
I  am learning too
there is nothing new under the sun
a million graduates graced the stage
diplomas and dreams clenched in fists of tan hands
a million mothers have sat with pride
remembering everything that ever was
nothing is not remembered, nothing is allowed forgetting
you may say I have heard this before
this retelling, it’s too familiar to wake me up, make me come alive
everything about this moment
the other ones too
though told before
burst forth with new birth
and old is new, anew
don’t stop me if you’ve heard this before
because I will not stop talking
a million mothers may sit with pride
but there is only one me
and there is only one us
repetition is the echo, the bold, the exclamation point
everything bears repeating
the chorus and refrain sing me home

 

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On Pulling Carrots

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On Pulling Carrots 

Some simple acts cry out to just be
Left alone, not friendly to or befitting of another poetic metaphor
Unembellished and resolute in their ordinariness
Not made to be made
To fit into an overstretched metaphor, placed strategically into the lines of
A poem, Lord please no
But raising a carrot from the ground
Is not such an act, it is artful and begs, no wails and weeps
Please place me in your bad poetry
It is replete with metaphorical monstrosities of language
And given artistic license, I could take the carrot
On a wild and winsome ride
On the wings of metaphor, allegory, simile, and mirth
A rising up from the soil is like raising Lazarus from the dead,  or the fast asleep from
Their garden bed, a grave
It is a spotting of an iceberg tip,  moss green carrot tops waving in the salt-laden Lowcountry air
Singing their siren’s song of hide and seek
Come dive down into the wet dark dirt, find me hidden here
In the shadows of the Earth
It is teeming with imagery of mystery
What lies below, we do not know
We are only given a glimpse of what lies ahead
What we are shown, a small portion of what we know
In faith, exists
Frayed green carrot tops waving from the Black Cow soil
Come and catch me if you can
It is a study in anthropology, and Psyche 101
Each one unique
No two alike
The root has ample time to develop into a carrot like no one has seen before, each one
A brilliant masterpiece
Hidden from the predators and garden thieves
Roots twist and turn, formed like sculptor, crafted art
In clay or bronze or wood
Have you pulled the orange beauties up one by one
Or even by clumps of threes and fours
Before
Some simple acts cry out to just be
Left alone
Outside the confines of a poem
Pulled carrots from my garden
May choose their rooty fate
Of death by poetic metaphor
Or roasted with olive oil and a bit of sea salt
Becoming dinner on my plate