Snow drift, brittle and sweet, a feminist up off her knees.
Amid a swollen flag…frost reacts while trying to appease.
The land of franchised trees holds no regard to changing seas.
Only unaccountable moments of living in distant a pleasing breeze.
I am a feminist…up off her knees.
Whether my limbs be sagging unto a coarse turf…
I am the women of mother’s earth.
Pea coat in slender glove hand.
Spread before me is my land.
I keep looking for a rainbow lining…in an overcast sky.
Yet, the tears shed… blurred the lines.
Nature is testing me…I believe.
Must remember not all of paradise is lost.
Like the Red Tailed hawk…the heavens change direction from time to time.
I am a foot soldier to tempering diversity.
There is assorted indifference to what maybe inevitable.
It has always been this way…since the broken buildings have come into view.
With tainted lung plunged deep in my throat.
Without a heart upon my sleeve,
if so, a lie for all to believe.
I am the absconded wind on winter leaf.
An adult child, too old, born too late, for a deficit disorder.
A crumpled political banner, looking for a yard.
Like a New Hampshire storm, I fall for love of disposable beings…
And, the arrest is inevitably, hard.
There is comfort in another year’s comfort.
Covered bridges and mountain spring faucets.
Or, of a lone worn chair in the forest.
Places where ravaged thoughts can take a rest.