NPM: Not To Write

Telling me not to write 

Is like telling the bird not to fly. 

You’ll have to break my wings first. 

Advertisements

NPM: Call Me Mara

Do not call me Naomi. 

I am no longer pleasant.

I’m Mara, I’m bitter, I’m empty.

I was filled, but I’ve been hollowed out.

I’ve lost the sweetness of the rose.

I’ve lost the flavor of food.

I’ve lost my love and my legacy.

I’ve lost my faith and my trust.

Do not call me by my old name-

The name that, when on his lips, 

Meant promise and future and passion.

It is a bitter reminder of who I was, 

Who he was,

Who we were. 

Naomi died with Elimelek, Mahlon, and Kilion.

Call me bitter. Call me Mara. 

NPM: Nascence

The earth itself is crumbling 

Along fault lines and fissures,

Its body wracked with spasms.

The earth heaves

And lets out a guttural cry.

It trembles, it flails.

And suddenly, all our solid structures,

Our concrete and steel,

Are like anthills, like straw.

They collapse like cards,

Trapping us inside, if we are lucky,

And crushing us, if we are not. 

A man in Ecuador was pulled from

The wreckage of a pharmacy. 

He thought his life would end there in the dark,

Such a short twenty one years. 

But as they pulled him 

From that stony womb, almost a tomb,

He was reborn. 

He swears he was reborn,

And now he is one year old. 

His life started over

When he emerged from certain death. 

His nascence came at the moment of the end.