bene placito
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Birthright
There is always life in ruins
the cracks are home to seeds
whose growth into the ancient
further destruction brings.
The new steals from the old
the birthright of the stars
sneaks up to Life’s garden gate
but on arriving finds no guard.
The germ of life is passed along
and Adam takes new form
built of borrowed atoms
from the churning matter storm.
And the dust of the transpired
gets shuffled into corners
disturbed only by passing feet
of temporary mourners.
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On Point
I want to stand on my toes
like you do, Mommy.
I want to dance like you do.
I want to be a ballerina.
Looking down at her daughter
Mommy smiles and doesn’t say:
Do you want my black nails?
Purpling flesh, growths galore?
Broken bones and stress fractures?
My elegant pink silk shoes
hide a battery of injuries.
Self-perpetuating agonies.
Corns develop sinuses, become ulcers.
Nails thicken with hard skin underneath.
A muted rainbow of painkillers just
to make it through Swan Lake.
Plantar fasciitis from overuse.
Neuromas, burning pains from
calloused heel to mangled toes.
Nerves swollen, permanently scarred.
Achilles tendonitis even but always,
always with a smile.
She doesn’t say these things.
Instead, they dance together.
The mother holds the daughter’s
weight and saves the bloody truth
for other days in later years.
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“A rich man’s body is like a premium cotton pillow, white and soft and blank. Ours are different. My father’s spine was a knotted rope, the kind that women use in villages to pull water from wells; the clavicle curved around his neck in high relief, like a dog’s collar; cuts and nicks and scars, like little whip marks in his flesh, ran down his chest and waist, reaching down below his hip bones into his buttocks. The story of a poor man’s life is written on his body, in a sharp pen.” — The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga (Via)(via criminalwisdom)
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“ The people who run our cities don’t understand graffiti because they think nothing has the right to exist unless it makes a profit.
The people who truly deface our neighborhoods are the companies that scrawl giant slogans across buildings and buses trying to make us feel inadequate unless we buy their stuff.
”— Banksy (via laurenlivingroom)(via creophoto)
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“Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed.” — Dwight D. Eisenhower (via ahigherlevel)(via absurdreasoning)
