Inanimate

What do I do
with the passion
I feel for you

I do the dishes
hot soapy water
rushes
washes
over my hands

as I listen to blues
on the radio
these hands
that want
to touch you

baptizing you
in sea foam
and sand

Yet, I cannot
touch you
this we
understand

still,
what do I do
with the passion
I feel for you
 
Pattra Burnetto Monroe (Revised 2010)  By changing just one word, the whole poem and meaning is altered.  Interesting.

A Quiz: Who am I

I am blue-yellow, but not green
I am long and thin, but not lean
I am a wild horse, but not a mustang
I am an old reliable ford
On my good days
I am a strong force to be reckoned with

I am my mother's daughter

I am slow & fluid, but not graceful
I am a bird song in the morning,
But I no longer mourn
I am a haunting melody, without a warning
A siren searching
A Lorelei
Forsaken, but not easily forgotten
My days are numbered, but I am not

I am not my father's son

If I were furniture, I would not be a sofa or a couch,
But I could be a divan -- sprawl out on me,
But do not get too comfortable
If I were food I would be spaghetti,
The leftovers tasting better than the day before
Play with me, slurp me, but do not desert me

I was once a playful child

I am the flute song
Floating on the perfumed river
I am the weeping willow
With my roots entwined in the earth
I am serious, my intent is genuine,
Although my actions are sometimes feeble
Inexcusable or nonrenewable
They are livable, the choice was & is mine
I did the best I knew how to do
At the time

Each act forgivable or not
My expiration inevitable
Does being born feel a bit like dying
I don't remember either
yet

I fear living fully sometimes
And other times
I can be fearless
And sometimes alone
at night
I fear drowning
In embryonic fluid
Or sometimes I fly above the earth
And then I awake & forget
Who I am

Who am I
A) am I the born awaiting death
B) am I the unborn awaiting rebirth
C) both A & B
D) none of the above


By Pattra Burnetto Monroe