Ash and Smoke

Flashes of memories churn to flame and ash.

Glass shatters in the blaze as someone screams,

Beaten from the combustion blue within.

Passing train narrowly misses a sister I wrenched away,

Skips a pedestrian,

But seizes a friend, never to be seen again.

I am a stranded bystander witnessing

Transfer from burn to hospital

Scrape to hospital

Slash to hospital.

Then an invitation into the blaze

Follows love still foreign left in a haze.

My demons put out the flame into smolders,

My face and throat enveloped and severed by 

Billowing ash and smoke.

From spark to smolder,

I’m left whispering screams.

Art Institute

 Laughing and chatting is all and good

But here in this art gallery, don't say a word.

Quietly discuss these masterpieces,

Their mysteries, symbolism, motifs, and more.

I'm silently screaming for you to slow down

Quiet down,

Reflect now.

Look, see, process, learn.

You look, laugh, distract, turn to phones.

Like "The Artist Looks at Nature,"

I know it's in your nature to be engulfed in your phone.

To focus on food,

But you miss the art,

Food for thought,

You miss the nuances around you.

It's not wrong to connect with friends.

Your friends you see everyday.

But these masterpieces whisper for your attention.

For you to use your mind

And find the intricacies.

To find your identity in history.

In every brushstroke,

Photo,

Canvas and frame.

Laugh with your friends

As you recognize the absurd beauty that is abstract art.

Find your muse in Monet.

Your gaze in Degas.

Find the discreet light in Albright.

You might not appreciate it how I do.

But slow down,

And you might find something stir in you

Through you.

Shape you.

Move you.

Describing Color to a Person Born Blind

A lost connection I will never again receive

Is a lost ability I am only beginning to grieve.

Each sweet scent is a lost friend.

Each memory tied is a lost home.

A favorite body wash

A favorite soap

Are identifiers of the man I knew.

I lost those intricacies of my identity.

Now, the only person who can smell him is you.

Describing scent now

Is describing color to a person born blind.

Every luscious detail lands to my nose bland.

Touch and taste are experiences.

Sight and sound are familiarity.

Only scent is the final stroke

Painting familiarity into home.

Not the America I Grew Up In

ICE freezing the Constitution--

Murdering both natural-born and immigrant--

This war is hardly civil.

In our streets, peaceful protestors are gassed,

Declared dangerous for disagreeing and holding a sign.

This is not the America I grew up in.

7AM "With liberty and justice for all."

The words we'd declare and repeat every day at school.

The pledge we made to stand for and live by.

"I am fair, show care,

I am responsible, show respect,

I am trustworthy and a good citizen."

An elementary school pledge that I still stand by.

This pledge used to be elementary.

ICE out now!

Stop murdering our kids!

Stop murdering our families!

Stop murdering our brothers and sisters and siblings!

Plees I never imagined I'd need to scream!

I never learned this as civil in my high school Civics course!

If these make me radical--

If wanting equal rights

Due process

To live and let live

To not have to qualify for humanity 

And not live in fear makes me radical--

I will proudly wear that label.

This used to be the America I grew up in.

Through The Motions

Mind focused, but it's rarely so bland

Just going through the motions, tossing creativity in the sand.

Life As Story unread,

New projects spark dread,

Interest in music left dead,

Research curiosity hanging by a thread.

Connect with friends,

Connect with community,

It's only 9, but I just want to go to bed.