clay between the ashes

mbrazfield (c) 2021

to think that beyond shadows
a sun glows she dressed in gold
swatting at her lover heaven
sending radioactive flares of hot love

to think that behind those shadows
i sit silent staring at the calmness
of poppy blossoms along the hills
while the shadows shield a chaos

to think that beneath the shadows
are my remains that partake
in the Maker’s infinity loop
of clay between the ashes

when will the saints

mbrazfield (c) 2020

since the gases of The Breath began to stir laying star mosaic highway to my Earth i have stood here with the Mothers see our skin with every deep trench within lies a simple truth no matter how those eyes may look at it those evergreens beyond man’s streets will make their way to find me i the omnipotent Mother armored in degrees of time so tempered holding on to blades of grass and crooning birds the smiles of ghosts prophets who are strangers and now it is my time the holy Breath she comes on flames attire placing the finishing touches before i’m ushered softly silently diligently into a tomb of slumber

great Grady’s ghost!

it happened in slow motion lightning fast simultaneously laughing gas i crawled like a cheetah at the break neck speed of a snail that’s all i can think of i remember it was 4:44 am and i needed to go to thee room not any room thee room people were sitting on plastic chairs orange yellow green like an artificial fruit salad outside of the Macy’s window circa 1936 there were little speakers on the ceiling with little mesh coverings like those that cover the shower drainage holes i thought i might have been walking on the bathtub floor laughing gas they said and further down the hall there were ashtrays big tall cylinders with a silver topping and sand and butts yellow butts put out i could see the name brands on them Menthol Kools Marlboro Winston Camel and then there were big cigar pieces i don’t know what you might have called them i was just a kid i remember seeing tiny little Dixie cups inside of the telephone booths and there they would be those little cups with blue and yellow flowers and the name Dixie i guess that’s where people stash their pills i also remember the phones being off the hook buzzing and buzzing and buzzing and i imagine an old woman on the left hand side middle booth cream dress church hat white wiry hair crystal green eyes and dead lips she stared at me like a frog i look down i know who she was once we passed across the hall there was a war survivors and i peeked and i saw a room full of gurneys men mostly black men with bloody bandages somewhere missing legs and then from my right ear i could hear an invisible body that sounded like they were from Texas white harsh hateful yelling at the top of this lungs to be taken out of that room he didn’t particularly like being with the coloreds i had never seen something like that the laughing gas they say the laughing gas and further down the hall no yellow brick road my hair wild frizzy intertwined with a piece of bubblegum right in the middle but they didn’t know and i didn’t tell it was strawberry i believe later that night with my tiny little left hand i recall pulling it out the pain made me feel down to earth although i don’t know what was happening to me i had little hands finally we reached our destination the nurse lifted me up and while she carried me for about 4 seconds and sat me on my gurney i remember seeing my little gown pink with little yellow teddy bears my little thighs were bloody i don’t know why i could feel my nose being crusty and no one in the room was my relative no one in the room was anything other than a wage-earner no one in the room was anything more then a team of let’s put them back together again the laughing gas the laughing gas they sing

doulas

sand dunes gray breathing quietly the wind caresses smiles on them like new born babies

those who witnessed the sunrise shiver slightly humming and blessing the horizon their hands usher a new voice

mothers with strong courageous hearts the most sacred foundation for the tiny roots to rise

washing off the stubborn stains of ignorance and calcified time

paving plowing and clearing paths where God and water there do clash and angels become mothers