#orpheusposting

Hand in dark river-

Oil on top

From the mill

My kin call savior.

It easy to see now

That the poor here

Have no saver.

Pull the line up

With calloused hands-

Cruel cruel father

But he was a hard working man.

Lungs full of lime dust,

You can hear it when they talk-

I know more burn victims

Than I ever did of love.

Dirty south

Know now how they see us-

Teach the boys how to profit

Off of blood

And show the daughters how to be less.

Fields or mills or hospital rooms,

There isn’t much to do here

But the youth can make do.

Jugs out of boat

See them bob

And think of truth.

Breaking down bodies

As they can only speak of service-

Work until deaths door

But best believe fed mouths

Are worth it.

We’ve all got stories here-

Of family lost to addiction

Or disease or fear.

Bones stacking up

Taller than statues of confederates-

Misinformation spreading

Like a disease that has ate restlessness.

And don’t get me started

On the lies that are fed in this-

Bass in the boat,

Fighting for what’s left of it.

Uncles losing hands

And fathers of fathers

Fighting for ease

From needless wars in foreign lands.

There is no pride here truly,

But dancing in survival-

The most beautiful music

Played from street corners

And people with eyes low.

Don’t tell me of resilience

Till you’ve tasted the honey

Of sleep after working until arms are weak-

When there are mothers

Forgoing food so that the babies can eat.

States full of policies

For the few that will profit

And the ones that will fall for it.

We’re the uneducated surely,

The lesser, the misknown.

But there is something beautiful

In this flooded, long drenched home.

How community finds it’s way

In places not meant-

Like truth of human kind,

Pack built, long spent.

Life after storm,

Matters not who you are-

Hardship and hate sure,

But warmth and love filled arms.

Scaled bodies up for grabbing,

Fill the needy and the hungered-

Gutted fish and children laughing,

And some days movement feels real hard-

But I still dance on the good days,

And skip like childhood in my heart.

Won’t let tiredness be the downfall

In my happiness at breath,

Gotten a bit better about resting

And focusing on intent.

It is difficult come Monday morning

To accept what I can’t change,

But by Thursday I am set

On humming through the pains.

I’ll tell you all the difference

That has been made in what I see,

To take aches as communication

Instead body failing me.

But there’s movement in the listening

Feel the rhythm of the music,

And I think I’ll get back to playing-

Something about creation

Makes energy worth paying.

And isolation is much harder

Now that I know the touch of care-

I flinch and I still furrow

But have community that I thought rare.

Lifting up the moments

That I can lift nothing at all,

And filling up the space

When I feel inconsequential and small.

Know me for my trying,

I’ll surely fuck up and swear a lot.

But finally thankful I’m not dying

And sifting through the rot-

Of everything that they taught me

About who’s allowed to acknowledge pain.

I am no big savior to the masses

But am surviving through the day.

That’s a fact now to be proud of,

Even when I feel small-

Yes I bleed much but I laugh more,