American Dream

I want the American dream
but it is not for me
the color of my skin
impedes all opportunity
BORN IN POVERTY die in poverty

I want the American dream
bound to the land is me
shackled to ancestor’s sin
indigenous bore my nativity
born in poverty DIE IN POVERTY

I want the American dream
I hunger to be free
resistant to fit in
stultified all possibility
born in POVERTY die in POVERTY

I want the American dream
but it is not for me
I was born of mother’s sin
my wealth is my history
I will die NOT in poverty

She Waits

The Mag suggested using A Dinner Table at Night as inspiration for a poem or story. Here is mine.

A Dinner Table at Night, 1884, John Singer Sargent

She Waits

She sits
pensive and waiting
dim crimson lights abuzz around her

She waits
alone and stultified
though her malevolent beau perches near her

She hears
nothing and all things
his lamented empty words fall around her

She drinks
often and quickly
dulling senses as alcohol consumes her

She sees
shadows and sculptures
hopeless faraway dreams elude her

She sits alone
waits for nothing
hears light buzzing
drinks in her dreams
sees no kind soul.

She perishes,
pensive and waiting,
alone.

Pamela N. Brown
© August 6, 2012

Remember

There is a woman inside me
pulling
tugging
gripping.

She whispers gently,
“Remember who you are,”
but her whisper becomes a screaming.

She pulls me to the scalding outdoors
and plants bare feet firmly
to the red ground.

She sings a song of blue skies
billowy clouds
and rustling green leaves.

She sings of thorns on mesquite
mimosa opening in the morn
cactus pads and prickly pears.

Her screaming fell on deaf ears,
but now I hear and see;
my eyes open to green, yellow, red.

I feel the hard red clay
cracked beneath tired feet
the heat of the sun pounding our earth.

I feel the pricks of dry yellowed grass
crushed under rough soles
and the sting of a fire ant.

She screams, “Remember! Remember!”
and I see the past unfold
as yesterday.

I remember the cold of the creek
rippling across tiny feet
tadpoles and minnows slip between small fingers.

I remember leeches stuck
to soft red brown sunwashed skin
and bright red life flowing to the ground.

I remember black soles travelling
across the small town
and purple stains between toes.

I remember feet dangling far above the earth
eyes gazing on hairless chicks
nested on a mulberry branch.

I remember and reach back
to what I forgot, but
life gets in the way.

©Pamela N. Brown

I remember a time when my life felt less empty and more full. It was a lifetime away. I miss nature to the point that I feel stifled and suffocated.