comes from multiple thoughts that tangle themselves in knots and finally resolve into words that decide to march across the page and surprise ourselves. Today's offering:
Aloha Does Not Always Mean Goodbye
The egg lies raw and broken,
yolk bleeding out of the side,
and the clear part--
that which nourishes
drips through the cracks.
The essence of ohana
is not just one of belonging.
It is of remembering.
We share the same heart,
and give each other feathers
from our own wings
for softer places to rest.
But we have plucked the finest quills
then used them
to scratch ourselves to bleeding.
Words. Raw words. Raw
and pulled from bone and sinew,
then laid out for our young
so they, too, can transcribe hatred.
How can we call for the dove of peace
when we have roasted her
upon the flames of justification,
and the olive groves have been sold
lest we are tempted to hold the branches
for her children to land on?
We have turned love into that which is kapu
while we sit at tables
and at plates
with egg shells.