Poetry of Love, Resistance, & Solidarity

Posts tagged ‘Gloria Vando’

72. To the Stars Through Difficulty: Gloria Vando

A meadowlark snubs
the split rail fence, the crows’ cacophony,
and soars,

stretching its wings in weightless
ecstasy, its yellow throat
shrouded by the glaring light,
its song, still thought, about to thaw
the dawn––

and far below in leafy
camouflage, the hunter waits.

— Gloria Vando

146. Disaster (Or Bum Rap)

She spent her adult days

worrying about the inevitable:

earthquakes in L.A.,

stacking escape clothes

by her bedside in case

she had to make a run for it

in the middle of a dream,

or pursued by New York thugs

out to steal her innocence…

and variations on that theme.

In Mid-America where she

rejoiced from lack of stress,

her mind and limbs

relaxed enough to avoid

the muscle cramps she suffered

in L.A. and NYC. She forgot

about the bedside clothes

double locks, and being alert

and ready to avert disaster.

And so she was taken by

complete surprise when

in the middle of a placid dream,

a tornado lit down on the roof

of her house and whisked away

all her cares, leaving her

naked and alone in a field

where her house had stood,

in full view of the moon

shining overhead and

on both coasts simultaneously.

— Gloria Vando

123. Time

God gave the white man clocks,

the Ghanaians time.

—Ghanaian saying

Was it the bluejays woke me

with their cawing and shrieking—or

was it the foxes barking at an owl?

Suddenly, loudly, I am awake,

bolt upright in bed. My husband,

snoring lightly beside me, doesn’t move

or turn as I go from room to room

shutting doors and drapes against intrusion,

trees still black against the paling grass,

descending sky. No doors out there

in the real world. On my own, I

wouldn’t know the twilight from

the dawn—could work or sleep around

the clock. Only time would tell

the difference—its tiny hands

inching their way across my life.

— Gloria Vando

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