My cottage was not washed away;
My land is not baked so hard that even the beetles have left--
I am not at risk for being raped while looking
for cholera-free water for my starving infants;
I have not been falsely accused of doing someting heinous and selfish (lately);
I have not lost a pet in a while.
I have not had to choose between buying
at the end of the month
a little King Writing Tablet
for 25 cents or a bottle
of lotion for houseworked hands
as my mother once had
and told me one night
when i was
14 and begging for something.
I worry about the world and the country and the politicians
are going to hell
in the meantime
life on a poor farm goes on
pretty much like last year
and the year before.
It's good to be alive.
No one has tried to alter or cut away my private bits.
When I go out to collect firewood
it is for fun and
I look up and see a thousand fat flying geese, calling Hello calling Goodbye
I eat and drink my fill each day in my cooled and warmed silky pillowy nest
with a VeryGood Dog.
My brothers are honorable and my sisters are beautiful laughers and gardengrowers and
all the babies are fine and brilliant.
My pain is self-inflicted.
Those who languish, bitter and lonely
in damp cells with moldy food;
Those who are harvesting the fruits of lies
Those who bear the pain no one else will take
(those too gentle to stop a cruelty beyond words)
Fill my thoughts
Break my heart
Lead me to Drink
more Konza Moons