Untitled
Author: Korrine Key
After Reading November for Beginners by Rita Dove
The dream of snow is a relief
In it’s own
These burning fall leaves
Are far too harsh compared to ice
There are too many of them
Too much
Snow is a secret
Blanket to cover the crunching
Brown leaves like dirt
Soggy and frail
In the ongoing autumn rains
Melting them into the earth
The music of the sun’s rays
Crisp the air
Beat the people
Sweat spilling from their foreheads
As they dance in the light
Dreaming of snow to cool
Their tired burning bodies
Stings of Sin
Where does it hurt when I lie?
Is it in the piercing pain of thorns weaved
around your forehead with red truth sliding down
Is it the acidic taste of flame
raging in the dissolved vinegar eating
thousands of bumps on your tongue
Is it in the open slit of your side
where a sea of blood and water
spilled like the downward stream of a waterfall
Is it in the holes in your
hands and feet formed by rusted
iron pushed and twisted into cedar wood?
Savior, what does the sting of sin
feel like? Where does it hurt most? And
where are halos found among martyred men?
Prayer
We are puppets to
Your systems. Our only qualification
Is to be the number that
Satisfies your minority quota defenseless
Without our heartless haven
You shoot us in the streets
Not because of our words or ideals
But by a variation of color
Forgetting
that the pavement
Is stained by the same dark hue
As we hold our
Fathers, mothers
Sons, daughters
Sisters and brothers
In our arms at the hour
Of their death. We
Cling to Our Lady’s
Cloak. Asking not for
Her to crush your head
But for your conversion.
We petition her for another
Guadalupe, Mother
Unite us like you
Did before. Show
them how a mixed-race
Can be Miraculous.
