MY GRANDMOTHER’S WAR

“It was the war”
She said,
As she laid her head
On the pillow next
To my father’s bed
In a raspy voice
From her cigarettes.
How she loved all that –
Skinny cigarettes.
When I asked her why
She would rather die
Young and unfulfilled
By the wheat and rye.
And she looked at me
Like I couldn’t see
Why some people do
Just the crazy things.
Oh that truth
Is beyond all me.

“But Pa came back”
I said,
As I laid my head
On the window next
To the oak wood bed.
And she looked straight down
Like in the tile ground
Was the reason for
All her drunken rounds.
Well I know it’s hard,
But break it into parts.
If I knew everything,
I could have a start.
I can’t understand
In this day and age
All her suttle rage,
Or the fear and hurt
That lived in her.

“It was the war”
She said
Once again.
And answered me;
“But he came back dead.”

CEMETARY FLOWERS

It’s storming in Detroit,
And the flashes in the sky
Seem to signify
That it’s not letting up.

How I want to get up.

There’s a school of kids proclaiming
Things, but they are merely saying
Them, so will it hold effect?

The rain is starting now,
And I can hear it all around.

The drains are filling up.

We’re overflowing knowing
There is not a way going
And leaving all to drown.

I said for years; I’d leave.
And I did; but now I see
We change all but where we’re from.

This storm and this rage,
I grew up in this age
And it’s part of who I am.

It’s storming in Detroit,
And this is where I’m from.