page 120

the bells of the broken bridges
sound throughout the city.

travesty! tragedy!
bricks-batons-tears of glass!
catastrophe!

the yoke of oppression bares a heavy load.


:::


atop her cast iron throne,
to those that behold her---
she is blind.

with a sword held unwieldy
it is the scales of which she holds strongly.

every mother knows the first gesture of love     
is a cradled touch.     

she was told her virtue need no vision.
for what is just, weighs truthfully.


:::


we are all plants
that need to be pruned;

remove the death and dying from ourselves
so we can rejuvenate
the life within our living.

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page 69

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