moonshadows poetry

how to avoid passive voice.

Circle the verbs.

Imagine inserting “by zombies”

after each one.

Have the words been claimed

by the flesh-hungry undead?

If so, passive voice.

I wonder if these

sixth graders will recollect,

on summer vacation,

as they stretch their legs

on the way home

from Yellowstone or Yosemite

and the byway’s historical marker

beckons them to the

site of an Indian village—

Where trouble was brewing.

Where, after further hostilities, the army was directed to enter.

Where the village was razed after the skirmish occurred.

Where most were women and children.

Riveted bramble of passive verbs

etched in wood—

stripped hands

breaking up from the dry ground

to pinch the meat

of their young red tongues.

a  few  times  each day to understand your father's sky, as you take it apart

piece  by  piece  and can't feel  anything,  can't  feel the tree growing under

your feet, the eyes poking night only to find another night to compare it to.

Whoever   heard   of   turning   pain   into   hummingbirds   or   red  birds—

haven't  we  grown?  What  does  it mean to be older?  Maybe a house with-

out  doors  can  still  survive  a  storm. Maybe I can't find the proper way to

rebel  or  damn it,  I can't  leave.  I want to,  but you grow inside of me. And

as  I  watch   you,  before  I  know  it,  I'm  too  heavy,  too full  of  you  to  move.

Maybe  that's what they meant when they said you shouldn't love a country

too much.