Collective Unrest

 

I don’t know what to do

January 9, 2019

The limit of color is a vacuum sealed secret.
The lighter the pigment, the darker the past
actions, or so it seems. The skin reflects the
opposite angles of these better angels we try
To nurture in the cracked spines we let serve
as our backbones. We have lost our empty
backbones, too afraid of being treated as we
have treated. Afraid. Scared to face the earned
consequences of past ancestry because we
should be. We should be. Ashamed.

 

 

Wil Gibson currently lives in Humboldt County, California where the trees are big. He has had 5 collections published by kind people, and has been included in a number of anthologies and lit mags both online and in print, such as Marsh Hawk Review, Button Poetry, Midwestern Gothic, Drunk in a Midnight Choir, Yellow Chair Review and more.You can find links to books and more info at wilgibson.com.

Please follow and like us:
In category:
Newer Post

Seventy-First & Everybody Else

for Harith Augustus My heart thuds the panic of a death sentence kicking it into view, policeman on my television flooding streets they call problems, their batons bludgeons cudgeling bloody people screaming for their lives, another neighbor toppled early to…
Read
Older Post

Insects of War

Do you remember being small and singing that bringing home a baby bumble bee would make my mommy proud of me? But when the two tallest roses in our meadow were plucked the bee was squashed, it’s warm, yellow fuzz…
Read
Random Post

Debating Daddy

A senior year’s for facing fear -- debate is offered, first time, as an elective, the coach. more mother/detective mutates you, English junior honors speeches with commands: posture, eyes. She tries to teach you: prepare, schoolgrounds, practice, pretend, defend your…
Read
Random Post

The Familiar

Among the useless items— a stuffed dodo, wondrously opaque and clear-eyed, a black hole dug around your nested ear. Gregor, I christen you, leaving my human oils on your fragile beak. I am sorry, Gregor, that Bees Maid and borax,…
Read
Random Post

Upon Discovering You Have Begun to Lurk in the Neighborhood, I Complete This in Finality

(After seven years) you violated the ultimate human(istic) agreement: I keep to my side of the bed, you keep to yours. Staring at your constantly-fading face and evaporating outline, if I learned anything, it’s that I was made for better…
Read
Random Post

Witch's Brew

And there it is again--   silky voice of children’s lullabies   she wields in meetings of wits   A New England beauty replete with the grace and poise white privilege breeds   Her blade of honeyed words slices so sharp I…
Read