Tag Archives: control

Beds

Neat and tidy beds
are for beginners
who haven’t spent
enough time sitting
by the open window
with a pillow
crushed between
their chest and knees
breathing in
the lilac gone wild
or the sweet
magnolia ashei
demanding
to be inhaled.
Neat and tidy beds
are for those
who need control
over creativity—
who believe
that letting the soft
and delicate petals
of the columbine
mingle
with the wood mint
might lead to one
taking advantage
of the other.
Neat and tidy beds
have so much
emptiness
pruned into them—
as though
it made no sense
to believe
that the milkweed
and the marigold
could compliment
each other
if they were allowed
the freedom
to touch and bloom
below the sheets
of sunlight
ruffled with
occasional rain.

 

 

 

DeMaris
5-31-17

“Flower Beds in Holland” Vincent van Gogh, 1883

Lunch with my Parents

We greet with hugs
and kisses and smiles
even though it’s only been a week
since we dined together
at another restaurant
in another part of town.
I dress for the occasion
in something like church clothes
because that’s what you do
when your parents are rich—
and they want to make sure
everyone knows who’s in control.
And you mustn’t forget
how much I love them—
though they’re on another team
who wants to build a wall
between abundance and need.
They struggle to understand
the equality of my love for others
while I remind them of a world
that doesn’t exist on Fox News.
Funny how well we get along
since we agree on nothing
except for the excellence
of the julep, the berry salad
and the turkey club
made divine by the avocados
which entered the country legally
and without the scrutiny
that my father gives the bill
when it arrives on the silver tray.
I’ll offer to pay my fair share
but my mother will refuse
and wrap her right wing tightly
around me as if I were 10 again
and still believed that angels
were keeping track
of all her good deeds—
which are always sincere—
even if they are limited to
a world so small she believes
it can still contain me.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
7-16-16

Dandelions

 

You aren’t supposed to love them—dandelions—
when you live in the orderly suburbs
with neighbors who are conditioned
to be more concerned about property value
than the beauty of a lovely yellow flower
as careless as those same neighbors
wish they could be when it came to their whereabouts –
the location of their hearts scattered always
like those tiny feathered seeds
that praise the wind when it calls them,
lifts them into an adventure
so grand they become a thing of enviable beauty—
but no one wants to admit that they could be
outdone by the wild perfection of water sun and soil
and so they mow down the blanket of tiny suns
and pay for the electric green conformity
that snuggles up next to the beds of seedlings
deliberately planted in color schemes
to compliment the brick, the wood, and the front door—
a façade that announces you are just like everyone else.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
4-24-16

Little Boy, Casualty of War – I Won’t Forget You

Oh humans—
what have we done

It was never enough
for us to eat
and love
and admire

We had to take
and own

We had to create gods
that could give us
authority to kill

We even turned
the wheel
into something
nefarious—
spinning forever
out of our complete
control

 

DeMaris Gaunt
12-30-15

 

 

Control

You like to think you have it
most of the time—
that it’s one of your possessions,
saved for and bought
with experience and time.
Does it really matter
(you wonder to yourself)
if you leave it at home when
you know you’ll be seeing her again?
And all you want
is for her to know everything
she’s meant to you
all these years – even now—
and in this public café
you’ll get the chance
to apologize for the ending scene
you caused the last time you spoke—
when control was something
you only knew how to lose.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
3-28-15