"Fear at 92," "Birthday Trip," and "Midnight"
Fear at 92
you feel your body breaking
cutting cord
melting chain
aging eyes are searchlights
exposing layers
of all intentions
memory fading, morphing
106 degrees
halfway to boiling
hell
is the shadow of no one
creeping in the dark
Birthday Trip
after 2,000 miles of planes
allowance given
for age and relation
the house was hollow
with disapproving walls
all sweetness gone
cold confusion
imprisoned memory
of blooms and smiles
made darts of the tongue
torture by word and tone
piercing the common DNA
no love
no reflection
in a black mirrored home
Midnight
The earth is self cleaning.
A human infestation is set
to extinguish itself.
The air grows heavy with hate.
Heat of constraint is discomforting.
Bullets fly, metaphorical and real.
We stay inside as if the devil’s at the door
and our illusion of safety will save us
but we feel finality coming.
Guns worshiped. Children sacrificed.
People are brittle and mean
driven by propaganda.
Being strong is keeping
our hands on the wheel
as we’re forced to drive backwards.
Beside writing and publishing for decades, Belinda Subraman was a Registered Nurse for 14 years, mostly in hospice. She’s also an artist working in ink and acrylics. She’s a member of several drumming groups and has been playing African rhythms for over five years taught directly from African masters. She also has a daily yoga practice and a book of poetry called Left Hand Dharma published by Unlikely Books in 2018.
