Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Good Summer

It’s a good summer for shelter
if you have one

Stay indoors under the damaged roof
with its sodden shingles
if you have one

Make a wry comment about unending rain
your undamaged fair skin
if you have one

Sleep well with the sound of showers
on pillowed mattress
if you have one

If you

Walk down Capitol Street
you juggle a latte and umbrella

you have one

The benches are gone
The rain washed
the city clean
You’re back
from vacation
to your job

You have one

It’s a good summer.

© Heidi Richardson Evans

Saturday, August 18, 2018

Chimera

I step out
of shed scales.
Discard serpent skins & venomous memories
all neatly swept into a dustbin and
walk away, head high & shining.


© Heidi Richardson Evans 2018



I'm digging deep lately, and through tough bedrock. I'm extremely pleased to have found a therapist who's actually making me question entrenched beliefs and very old thought patterns, whole systems of thinking and percieving that I've never taken a critical eye to before.

I'm bleeding poems, and among them are my best ever. I'm actually planning to submit a few to journals.


photo by PDPphotos at Pixabay.com

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Poem: Holler, Dragon

I was wonderin’ what’s a holler
dragon like? Black scales like garter snakes
& piled tires hot in the sun when it finally rose up
enough to crest in fire bright over the hill.


Raisin’ hell & mad as a hornet, liftin’ wings of corrugated metal
feathers--stitched in like crazy quilts draped over rocking chairs--
of crows, fat from french fries ate when mamaw’s too
tired for biscuits. Dragon squawks like them, fussin’ loud
& un-self-conscious like my old neighbor.


Shiny like stolen copper & hungry from the good buds
we grow, illegal, this’s what a holler dragon lives on:


poisoned cricks,
pretension,
meat grilled over lighter fluid & charcoal,
and end consonants.


I envied her screaming, that raging neighbor out
at midnight givin’ him down the road loud
as that practice whistle they blow in case MIC
bursts in plumes of lethal smoke
& writhes in the air so high


y’all could see it from up on in your
houses with the good view
from way up there, pitchin’ fits
on welfare queens
but sittin’ pretty
on fat stacks
of coal money,
kings of the stripped
naked
mountains.

© Heidi Richardson Evans 2018 all rights reserved