Patriarchy’s Grief

 

She dreamed of 3 men and 3 falcons, dancing in mid sky.

Men descend softly to great standing power,

expansive fields catching their every wish.

Majestic birds heed their call, landing on shoulders of giants, holding Court.

A cacophony of indecipherable languages morph into sweet, terrible songs,

feathered bodies take fast flight,

floating above in circular formation,

6 eyes patiently survey taken ground.

Man offers another interlaced hands,

the proudest stepping up into aided loft, rocketing past natural flight

until air stops.

2 men peer skyward at falling flesh,

down at shattered bone.

Concern stands over foolish dreams,

hearts and feet, heavy as boulders,

downcast eyes dark with resolution.

Falcons float freely, perplexed at simple lunacy.

She stands distant watching them, grounded in forced perspective,

lifeless men and majestic birds of prey,

her heart soaring with hopes of reason

amid the stench of patriarchy’s grief.

April Marten, 2016

First land I am torn from,

mother’s womb.

Second land, breast.

Third, native land.

finally, laid to rest

Somewhere

April Marten, 2018

            Miami’s Moon                      

 

            We go there

            to the edge,

            escaping concrete heat,

            and she rocks us like babies

            with her waves of sound

            and rhythms tides,

 

            12 hours

 

            hypnotized,

            saline breath

            baptized,                                           

            you are healed!

            of Your affliction,

            of Our inflammatory condition

 

            Atlantic pride,

 

            for a moment,

 

            we are ocean

            vast and fluid,

            celestial bodies call us back

            molecular fullness,

 

            12 hours

 

            sends us out,

            spilling over,

            mean-cracked streets,

            spilling in,

            to small-box houses,

            waxing and waning,

            perpetual cycles,

            Ecstasy and grief.

           April Marten 2019

Last night in a dream

Weeping and gnashing

Two eye teeth fall into oblivion

April Marten, 2016

Deep Throats

🙏

They filed in behind her

 

5 little soldiers

 

citizens without rights

 

bending knees at the altar of governing bodies

 

heads bow

 

lessons commence

 

jaws lift

 

mouths open wide

 

macerated myths bubble up,

 

violent bile streams

 

deep down fledgling throats.

Restrained by silent stares,

 

bloated with foul,

 

full and void,

 

they file out

in

perfect

formation.

April Marten, 2018

NYC • Miami • Atlanta • Charlotte • Knoxville