The mother of invention/Days of smoldering and incantations



The mother of invention

As she sat there unfulfilled

Under that fig tree

gratuitously  cursed

For its barrenness

The mother stared at the well


The water reeked

And the pulley creaked

And the choice was not a good one


But then she remembered

The power in her cane

Then she remembered that

You can strike water

Like  you can strike oil

Like you can strike gold


And guided by the drops

That plumped up her cells

Guided by a memory of jugs

Sitting on women’s heads

Guided by the waters that broke

Many years ago in her body

And those that flowed in her pleasure

She set off to re-invent the necessity of change.



Days of smoldering and incantations


Days of smoldering and incantations

While at the junction feet  fail to  lift

As you listen to the birds

Crying out their tweets

And lizards lay glued

To steaming stones


Days of thunder at a distance

And sunspots beckoning

A glowing motion

To continental drift

As the stuffed and the starving sit

Waiting for the drone to strike

And deliver

Fear in the soul.