September Pig

Pig stopped cold

On a sunset road.

Front feet impossibly,

Properly,

Tightly together.


On two little pegs

The weight of the world.


Stopped cold and thinking

Between two worn-smooth

Tire lines.

Skeeter’s truck’ll go

Right over this 

Ponderous

Pondering

Pig.


Pondering all our hopes 

And regrets.

“I should go back,”

“I shouldn’t have said that,”


“No, you’re right,

I’m nothing to look at,

But someone’s gotta be me.”

Ahmaud and George

I see Jesus.
In the face crushed into
Asphalt,
Knee on neck,
Power of might
Gone to the head,
Popping in vein and vision.
Destruction in the
Rod and scepter.
Where every impulse,
Yes, the very call itself,
Should be shepherd protection.
I cannot look.
He’s Someone’s son.
Oh, Someone, I am
Sorry.
I know you know the
Helpless mother-ache that permeates
The waking hours.
For motherhood is at the lungs and heart,
The veins and blood,
The precious skin, too; it is
Utterly unifying.
All mothers’ hearts beat alike. They cry,
Save the offspring-flesh who hold my breath!
Mary watched and bled.

Ahmaud, George, my sons, too.
What can I do for you?
Love your mothers? Ok.
I can do that.
Other tasks for other people.
I will love your mothers.
~
Quilt made for Wanda Cooper-Jones in honor of her son Ahmaud Arbery.