poetry, Reviews

We Silly Proletariat | WritersCafe.org

The following is a poem from a good friend of mine. Her work is always authentic, and a rich read. 😉

We Silly Proletariat | WritersCafe.org.

I.

The caterpillars chew

the garden ivy to a delicate lace,

browned and unrecognizable under August’s sun.

 

And the tree spiders spit

their webs into summer’s humid sigh:

the silky tendrils coat the sidewalks

coat the wooden door frames, already swollen

from exposure like grapes 

bursting from the vine.

 

We silly proletariat only pay notice

to the electrical storms 

that steep along the western horizon.

 

II.

We grow bored with garden parties

and decide to leave together,

driving out of the city, through back roads.

Knees to chest, I sit in your passengers seat

replaying “Oh Comely”,

 screaming my favorite lines out the window…

 

“Know all your enemies.  We know who our enemies are.”

 

We park at the top of the bluff,

which over looks the nuclear power plant.

Heat lightning stretches across the sky

purple and quick, flashes of a summer

we only knew from inside weak hours

with backs to the sky, hands to the wheels

which turn and churn.

 

We know nothing of happy vaporization.

 

III.

The thunder is loud

rattles your windows, shakes the floorboards.

My stockings are wet from sloshing

through puddles I thought were not deep.

 

You offer tea.

You bring sugar and a dry shirt.

As warm as I am, this night will end.  

Day will come.

 

When you realize I am crying,

you place one hand on my knee,

and the other on my soft belly.

 

I inch away, stating,

“It’s not that kind of crying.”

© 2010 Ms. Gruye

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