Two Poems by Margery Parsons

 

Ghazal, November, 2016

Fat flakes of obfuscating snow fall on the land,

disturbing everything, so hard to see or stand.

When I look out my window, trees, cars, doorways,

faces I knew yesterday, I don’t today, don’t understand.

 

Everything seems so shaky. When I water my plants

they are quaking, fragile stems can barely stand.

 

Boats in the harbor wait for things to blow over,

but how much furor could they withstand?

 

How can you know the best way forward when the wind

changes direction many times a day. To move or stand?

 

The rumble in the basement is insistent,

walls crumbling, the foundations of this building may not stand.

 

Near the lake I see geese gathering to go, in formation,

like a valiant team rising from the court, making a stand.

 

©Margery Parsons

 

Marching with Aylan

I carried a picture of you in a march today

to drive out the Trumpocracy.

I carried your small, drowned body

in my hands,

death-jacket, shorts and velcroed shoes

among the detritus on the beach,

your face and soft hair in the sand,

the waves gently washing over you

like a baby-blanket made of sea.

I can’t tell you what that picture did to me.

You could have been my child, my grandchild, anyone’s child.

I wanted to hold you,

comfort your father

tripled over with grief.

I want the insanity that killed you

to cease, and those responsible

driven from power.

So I marched today carrying your picture,

with your name, Aylan,

beautiful little boy.

And like the water

that washed you up on shore,

face-down, not breathing,

I hope it will carry you

to every corner of the world

where there are human hearts

still beating.

©Margery Parsons

 

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