A Street Called Parallel
When I was a girl, in small-town America, /
There was a street called Parallel, /
Where we Protestants ran alongside the /
Catholics – an historical microcosm of /
Our ancestral nations.
When I was a girl, in small-town America, /
There was a street called Parallel, /
Where we Protestants ran alongside the /
Catholics – an historical microcosm of /
Our ancestral nations.
And then, we watch our evening shows
Where bullets fly, and people don’t die,
But miraculously rise again
To record the next
Most-watched season!
Reap to the edge,
Destroy the fence-row.
Make more crops
From which money grows.
You spoke of oranges and pomegranates, and moonlight on the Sea of Galilee…
Read MoreI am becoming a blade of grass,
That grows and withers, yes.
But also, as it does so,
Develops some perfect Kelly green stalk…
As history’s mundane toil, and epic battles ensue
It’s clear no race is exempt
From ways that are imperfect, unkempt.
You were so thankful, and my friends
Were so proud of my gracious
Charity, seeing
I had aided
You…
A meal’s prepared,
The Spirit waits to welcome them there,
Or here,
I fell asleep thinking about swollen river banks – it’s
Rained for two days straight. Overnight,
Thunder rolled outside as I rolled over
In my sleep, and woke
Thinking of Moses…