#GloPoWriMo #NaPoWriMo Day 18 .................................. her name was Margaret

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creative common use
via pxfuel

her name was Margaret 

my Grandmother 
put on a small s tove 
a small fry pan 
in it an egg awaiting 
two slices 
whole wheat toast 
and some cheese 

sometimes 
morning unfurls 
ample velvet  
a house 
still invested 
with yet to stir quiet 

moments like this i remember 
my grandmother was Margaret 

this is my first post corona poem 
fourth wallism within 
dandelion concrete 
back to the beat 
the music 
the music 
the math 
of music 
we dance 
open doors 
open windows 
with 

i have to squeeze myself 
towards where memory went 
even if this place was as mythical 
as a dreamed of paradise 
meant as much elixir 
of journey as destination 

back to Saturday 
T H E 
weekends in theory 
mute the rat race 
but who R we kidding 
we place commerce 
eternal economic growth above all else 
even life itself ... this is our g_d 
i cannot tell myself truthfully 
it is not 
A N D 
you pause too 

chances are a nursing home right now 
is not your idea of a front line 
of a war 
but here in NY, it is 
this war isn't fought with bullets and guns 
it is fought with ideas 
ideas that murk acceptance of outsiders 
ideas that stain us with conceptual chaos 
ideas that demand us question ourselves
 <what is the value of life> 
are we not materials to trade 
commodities to buy or sell 
isn't this what is playing out 
between the lines 
the living hells 

i remember 
her saying turn off the TV 
there's too many dead soldiers 
too many ways we die without 
acknowledging where memory went
what recourse for souls not able to pay rent 

eat your egg Edward 
Grams would then say 
they're good for your bones 
like the quiet 
of a Saturday


EJR ©