Monday, March 21, 2016


my silence is not acquiescence;
do not mistake it for weakness or languor
or label me as pacifist

for I have drawn back my bow, back bent and ready
to let loose more arrows than could ever be counted,
their edges sharp, their feathers bloody

we are not pawns to be moved about haphazardly
in this horrific game of chess, its invisible players
hiding behind bastardized philosophies and awful grins

they are not invincible;

they, too, are mortal and afraid, 
yet they are trying to murder my country
with their wicked politics and a multitude of sins

they are trying to kill my husband
with the churn and burn of Big Pharma 
they are trying 

to smother him with neglect
O, but he is wing├ęd and rare
and we are bright with battle

we shall not allow 
our selves to be swallowed 
by this terrible maw of hopelessness

those who love us well join hands to build a raft,

to keep our heads above an angry tide,
to help us float on the sad debris
our tattered hearts have left behind

bring us now tender hummingbirds, a bounty of butterflies 
to carry our spirits, so heavy with dew
if we could only

brush aside a river finds its blush

Author notes:

"brush aside a river finds its blush"
This is a line from the poem "elemental drumming" by Danny Beatty, 
my husband; it is used with his express permission.

For deeper understanding and to clarify, 
I had two emergency surgeries done at the end of October; 
shortly afterwards, my husband was diagnosed with cancer.

“There are people everywhere who form a Fourth World, or a diaspora of their own. They are the lordly ones. They come in all colours. They can be Christians or Hindus or Muslims or Jews or pagans or atheists. They can be young or old, men or women, soldiers or pacifists, rich or poor. They may be patriots, but they are never chauvinists. They share with each other, across all the nations, common values of humour and understanding. When you are among them you know you will not be mocked or resented, because they will not care about your race, your faith, your sex or your nationality, and they suffer fools if not gladly, at least sympathetically. They laugh easily. They are easily grateful. They are never mean. They are not inhibited by fashion, public opinion or political correctness. They are exiles in their own communities, because they are always in a minority, but they form a mighty nation, if they only knew it." - Jan Morris, from "Trieste and The Meaning of Nowhere"