OverTheRainbow

Summer is not my favorite season,

summer is not really my jam,

but as June, July, and August

approach in their usual pack,

I find myself longing for the winding days,

the heat that slowly drives us all crazy,

In January,

when the thrill of the holidays has not yet faded

and the snow still enchants with its glittering smile,

she flops into snowbanks and skids on her knees on the ice

of her backyard pond,

sometimes

when my fingers don't itch to write

and the keyboard is a faraway memory, 

i curse myself

curse the world

because i feel like poetry is pointless.

why

do my hands know exactly how

looking up at the sky,

i can understand

why ancient people thought

the earth was flat

and the sky was a dome

our own personal snow globe

only,

we're trapped in it.

now we know

When the rivers turn to blood,

we will know

that our violence,

our unending savagery, our cruelty,

things we pass off as normal,

has gone too far.

When the rivers turn to blood,

we will know.

little lions

poking up through the sidewalk cracks

little lions

rambling along the sides of hills

little lions

puffy yellow stars shining like the sun