An entire lifetime captured in a breath:
from supine to standing, from birth till death.
As I move forward from pose to pose
I feel the flow of water, the tangling of rose.
Momentarily my focus wavers,
pulling me to the present.
Then I’m back, and all time is one,
from sun to waning crescent.
Everyday struggles will soon be conquered:
they cause me no more pain.
Just like cat and cow, serpent and crow,
crocodile, monkey, and crane.
They let me paint, so I painted.
They told me to write, so I wrote.
They taught me patience, so I waited
till they left, and painted this note.
They taught me to be
the very best I can be
but my best might not be enough.
Without you I just wander
and ponder and wonder
how a life so fine feels so rough.
The ideal man is calm, capable, tolerant,
and takes responsibility for his actions,
both direct and indirect.
The ideal woman is kind, caring, patient,
and forgiving of flaws,
both in herself and in those around her.
Together, with their compassion and understanding,
they heal the world, and nurture a better one.
I did just as he asked,
did everything he said.
Still, in front of woman and child,
four times he shot me dead.
My only crime was the misfortune
of being born in America black.
My lasting legacy is nothing more
than a week-long trending hashtag.
Unheard, unloved, downtrodden,
alone, abused, forgotten,
trapped in a free land,
tied to a cruel man,
debased, depressed, disowned:
the world’s most tragic widows
have known no misery in their lives
that could match that of these wretched wives.