Juror of a Maddening Crowd Trial
Isaiah 32:7 As for the scoundrel, his devices are evil, he plans wicked schemes to ruin the poor with lying words, even when the plea of the needy is right.
Trials of many kinds.
Wore a dress,
Stuck to the skin and left her heavy with impossibility.
She was walking down the street when the sun rose like a fist in a pocket.
She stood there, sighed, saluted the morning hoar
And blasted through.
I wore myself out for you.
Be clear, let’s be it, let’s share our sun songs on the moon keys
Where angels dance like the virtual is heaven. To be clear, to be her.
She was waking up and going to sleep, waking up and going to sleep, waking up
And going to sleep, sleep, sleep, the verdict was serene.
But the blood in her bones would not let her go.
I wore myself out for you. Trials. Walking back and forth on the creamsicle orange kitchen rug,
Not a rug,
A thrown thing born from the accident of thought.
I was not ready to question the mind that descended upon me, people gathering outside cages
Hungry for crème inside, inside, where the soul dines on its own spirit like the sun in the spring sprung
Below the stones not reached
That high point. What a load, girl, what a load. You drown in the sea of having to.
I have to.
Be clear.
Let’s sing our songs as he is carted off to jail, chains, body armour. There is no escaping the crowd.
I wore myself out for you.
I did nothing wrong. I bore down, generations of forgetting and now they want to remember justice.
Justice is the birth of the assumption, and death is the end of the dream.
What a dream it was, friends, gathering round flagpoles with our righteous choirs while on the edges
We flung our ash on others’ white dresses, clean, fresh sprung, bursting with novelic
And then
We let the load go so that the sun spits in its own eye, vulgar, imparted with flames bought from foreign furnaces.
Justice is the letting go.
But you will never know, girl, the maddening crowd dances for more.
More. More. More.
There is the sea between you and me but underground cables are already containing your joy.
About Author
