(poem) The Documentary [avrilkiksass]
2009-04-10 -- 1:55 a.m.

The Documentary

As I travel through

The summer streets of

My backyard, the mulberries

Are

Waiting.

Climbing down from the

Mountaintops,

Carrying southern stones on

Their feet, on my

Shoulders,

In their soft fleshy

Hands.

I am the accented cover-singer

Shivering in the

Garden,

Picking weeds;

Hiding

Fruit.

Always attracted

To the military, monastery,

Deeply not

Caring about your

Electrician

Friend Rob.

I pinkened the mulberry

Lemonade with

Just my thoughts

(And the news on

TV and your

Phone

Number).

Maybe light travels to

Texas

And maybe light

Gets lost.

I

Wouldn't know.

I'm the monk,

I'm the major,

I'm the mulberry picker. I'm

The stained purple

Hem

Trailing behind

Myself.

-Nora