Home Planet News

a journal of literature & art

The Literary Review

Issue 10         Page 116

Crater Life

I don’t want to live

at the bottom of the craters

of the moon

or atop the ridges

the crests the peaks

on the distant satellite

of stone

it may mean survival

living up there

in breathless cold

if we render the earth

unsustainable

farming alfalfa and black beans

in nutrient enhanced

pulverized

moon rock

it seems possible

with a newly invented

light

and water source

even if we were to live

with virtual

projection vision screens

casting earth blues

greens

sky and trees

the occasional flight

of a rust orange

breasted robin

soaring

from the image

of a branch

to the image

of a branch

I don’t want to live

out there

where it is so gray

so awful

gray

Bullet Holes and Screen Doors

Bullet holes and screen doors and corpses

should not go

together

according to recent neighborhood shootings

they do

barrettes and hair ties and blood

should not go

together

according to incidents of domestic

violence

they do

in rooms

abandoned

slender teenage arms

heroin needles

ice cold blue

skin

should not go

all these things should not go

together

sadly tragic

they do

sadly tragic

we gasp

we gloss over

we pass by

uncertain what to do

we move on

Blood Autumn

After the losses

the heavy season

of losses

fallen leaves race

through the streets

like rats with wings

thieves making off

with the blood of autumn

making off

with the blood of sunlight

the blood of the river

the blood of trees

the blood of love

the blood of cold dawn

the blood of the field

at dawn

where rising from the grasses

copper birds

beating their wings

the frost from the grasses

in the air splintering

like an ice shower

like thousands of angels

ascending

in the amber sun

Know not what We Do

I don’t want to live

at the tip of the thorn

in the crown scalp and skull

of Christ

up there courageous

on the wood

flesh filled

with nails

but I must

I must live with it

accept it

for our human hands

drive in the thorns

like claws like teeth

feasting

upon some dangerous

defiant radical

man-like thing

we cornered

muzzled

defeated

as little human tongues

of blood

lick trails

down His forehead

His eyes

His cheeks

and what does Christ say

to our Father

in the midst of his own

slaughter

Father

forgive them

for they know not

what they do

The Wrappings

Rush along the roads

to buildings

through halls through doorways

earn money buy meals

to feed yourself

buy houses buy cars buy screens

consume content

that consumes you

invest in commodities

real estate

buy devices

play with devices

direct a lot of energy

to the functional use

of your devices

gloss over names

meanings

feelings

beauty

holiness

have marriages

have divorces

sell houses

move from cities

fly the kids back

say the kids’ll be

fine

fine

buy more devices

wrap up in gold foil

wrap up in plastic

wrap up in silicone

package yourself

build yourself up

hold yourself

up like a placard

like a billboard

like a verification

a substantiation

notice people

notice you

want people

to keep on

noticing you

whomever you

may turn out to be

underneath

the wrappings

for there

we will be waiting for you

there

© Jadina Lilien: Unknown Ancestors-02
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