After i learned that the rate of valum prescriptions in baghdad sky rocketed after the u. S. Entry into that space. The title of the poem and it is the words the probably roost which is bitter. Biting, cutting, sharp. Bitan. Once, she was a fearest dark girl whos tongue skipped top of meeting. Teeth, teeth top of mouth like double dutch with the word that ment her thoughts cutting circles through the day. No chance shed be the one to trip and break rhythm. Then she could sit all day on her porch memorizing the trees. She could be still. The birds, winged through leaves like they didnt know anyone could hurt them. Once she believed steam curled off asphalt when summer rains stopped with a prophecy. She believed this looked the way she would feel after touching a man. Her body clean. And black. And right. Something beautiful and painless rising up. I was talking with a friend about that idea of leaving places. And leaving places behind the title of this poem is stolen directly from this
Will stretch out and face the challenges of the moment with our tongues wrapped around the idea of peace. Feel its weight, hear its song, remember in vent, discover, recreate its rhythms as we begin to walk the long trail of healing. Sew it to grow on it be it to see it, peace. Sew it to grow it, be it to see it, peace. [applause]. Flying inside the evening sky. I dont know the name of the blues that shadow our past. One is sweet and light a cool meringue. Another sharp but still. A third thick presses down upon the rest. Colbolt. A blue that hums deeply a harmony of ferm ment denying stars shining inside the cosmos. Forever blue where life dies and is reborn. An eternal blue that exists above the storm. A blue that doesnt suffer discord that would smile if it had a mouth. Embrace if it was armed. Comfort if it grew heart. Instead it arcs a concert of blues hovering over the earth in an endless ocean of impossible quiet. Thick with blue beyond blue. A blue that disappears when clutched
Will stretch out and face the challenges of the moment with our tongues wrapped around the idea of peace. Feel its weight, hear its song, remember in vent, discover, recreate its rhythms as we begin to walk the long trail of healing. Sew it to grow on it be it to see it, peace. Sew it to grow it, be it to see it, peace. [applause]. Flying inside the evening sky. I dont know the name of the blues that shadow our past. One is sweet and light a cool meringue. Another sharp but still. A third thick presses down upon the rest. Colbolt. A blue that hums deeply a harmony of ferm ment denying stars shining inside the cosmos. Forever blue where life dies and is reborn. An eternal blue that exists above the storm. A blue that doesnt suffer discord that would smile if it had a mouth. Embrace if it was armed. Comfort if it grew heart. Instead it arcs a concert of blues hovering over the earth in an endless ocean of impossible quiet. Thick with blue beyond blue. A blue that disappears when clutched
Aspirations. Refusing the burden of being a destroyer of homes. Rejecting the obligation of being the killer of brothers, spurning the mantel of murderer of children, decimator of families, poisoner of the earth. One day it will happen. On this tiny planet, flushed with blues weeping in reds opening green and fresh. Tell be quiet on this day. So quiet it will pass almost unnoticed. Because there will yet be hunger and floods and fire. There will yet be storms and despair and disease. There will yet be struggles and madness. But when that morning come thousands upon thousands will get up, millions inside millions will stretch out and face the challenges of the moment with our tongues wrapped around the idea of peace. Feel its weight, hear its song, remember in vent, discover, recreate its rhythms as we begin to walk the long trail of healing. Sew it to grow on it be it to see it, peace. Sew it to grow it, be it to see it, peace. [applause]. Flying inside the evening sky. I dont know the
My son mentioned in passing and grew up when she became the fifth intent days where he more than once broken bread or tossed a joke or waves down or waived past. She, the fifth, in 10 days whos blood splat erred the walls and dripped down the walk. This one in front of her home celebrating turning 23, a shining star her brother said. My heart, her father moneyed, a friend my opened to her sister known since the girl was 12 and he 11. And now each day i watch my son suck in his tears and stiffen from the pain that thickens as the pile of his dead grows beneath his heart. Deep inside his bones ache. And will not let him sleep lest those faces fill his dreams. I try to massage love into his neck and shoulder as we talk anguish from his locked muscles we dont speak of airny his pretend wife and confident. He reminds me it is not summer i should be real it can only get worse. He dresses in white and leaves my home as the key turns the bolt, i smell the mossy scent of morning seep from under