WHO IS IT THAT'S SPEAKING ?
You wake with a sentence engraved across
your forehead, it's a different one each day, a message or an omen,
an incarnation into Englishable understanding from somewhere unknown;
no wonder so many people mistake this for prophesy,
they think God speaks to them.
Five military planes flew over your house
as you laid in bed staring out the window thinking
about your morning sentence,
or was it the same plane circling five times, you can't know,
the sky overhead is too big for you to see where anything
is coming from, or going to.
The schools are growing opponents for future wars,
kindergarten teaches colors as opposites,
green can't sit beside orange, purple doesn't play with yellow, black
isn't white, we can never be comfortable, the fit isn't right.
Looking from your bedroom window you see a silvered cat catch
a small animal in its teeth and run off with it
between the Liriope and the Coreopsis,
its tortured last moments ending as you stare in disbelief.