Martyrdom
The infused anger I wade in is warm.
It holds me lovingly like a little girl to a kitten.
It breathes with its feathery fluting swishing
across my face as the day is cut
into fragmented pieces by the Arizona sun.
I only buy things that can be broken
so I may officially claim martyrdom--
a mill of suffering made right by your guilt
and anguish. Suffer louder. Whimper more.
Tear my face from your soul -- quickly.
Pain is easy.
I can feel it in my deep tap root.
Spears of Light
Slices of the sun strike my walls like a spear.
They claim innocence.
The lights on the kitchen wall move together
like a school of tuna averting an attack by sharks.
You eat your toast with great ambivalence
like the old men on the subway with sour faces,
melted hearts, wondering if they will be attacked.
The luminescence no longer bleeds the walls.
Evening has stepped in.
Dawnell Harrison has been published in over 200 magazines and journals including Mobius, Danse Macabre, Fowl Feathered Review, Queen's Quarterly, among many others. Also she has had 5 books of poetry published, entitled Voyager, The maverick posse, the fire behind my eyes, The love death, and The color red does not sleep.
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