Collective Unrest

 

Impeachment Day

February 6, 2019

He’s ugly,

stand behind me child. You’re safe now but — Look away.

But,

I want to see him.

He is hideous. He has horns, and a forked tail, and holes where his eyes should be.

Beauty is on the inside, I say to the back of her front.

 

No. Not this time. His heart is ugly, his words hurtful, and his language vulgar.

There must be good in him.

Everyone has some good.

Not him. Now hush.

 

But I can’t see.

Or talk.

Please.

 

I’ll describe it to you.

 

Lift me up.

 

You said, they are all monsters.

He is the worst because he looks like the monster they all are.

 

Lift me up, please

So I can see the revolution.

 

Ssshhhh.

 

 

Christine A. Brooks is a graduate of Western New England University with her B.A. in Literature, and is currently attending Bay Path University for her M.F.A. in Creative Non Fiction. Most recently a series of poems, The Ugly Five, are in the summer issue of Door Is A Jar Magazine and her poem, The Writer, is in the June, 2018 issue of The Cabinet of Heed Literary Magazine. Three poems, Puff, Sister and Grapes are in the 5th issue of The Mystic Blue Review. Her vignette, Finding God, will be in the December issue of Riggwelter Press, and her series of vignettes, Small Packages, was named a semifinalist at Gazing Grain Press in August 2018. Her poem, The Monarch, will be published in October, 2018 and The Man will be published in November, 2018 in the Amethyst Review.

Please follow and like us:
Newer Post

Sinking City

Beyond rescue, Miami is a cruise ship lost at sea with no lifeboats, throwing an all night dance party, music and stamping feet drowning out the sound of taking on water— but no,  not lost, the sea knows exactly where…
Read
Older Post

Prognosis, Miami

*Previously published in Public Pool A city in flux is no place to call home. The skyline is a cloudscape building to a storm the way it shifts and grows, expanding into something that eventually will fall, give way to…
Read
Random Post

to white folks

“if i had a son, he would look like Trayvon.” —President Obama ​ if we can be sisters you pressin hot comb to my hair while al green whispers in memphis heat me fussin tellin you ain’t no boy gonna…
Read
Random Post

Social

The restaurant is dark-walled and dimly lit with stained glass chandeliers that give it a medieval vibe. I half expect to see the waiters pouring wine into goblets rather than the ordinary stemware that sparkle on tables between diners. I…
Read
Random Post

Let me tell you something, sweetheart, Or, Dear capitalist

It’s not a secret that this doesn't end well or doesn't end at all until everything does even the orioles and the salamanders and the making of rice cakes and cobwebs and love or that half of us are being…
Read
Random Post

Watch the World Burn

When the world around you is burning, how do you strike a match to create your own flame? How do you burn bright amidst the coal-black soot that has come to cover us all like Vesuvius raining down on those…
Read