No Man Made

You think of me as soft wet clay

malleable under the warmth of hands found flesh

delicate mounds for fumbled thumbs

to dig at and scoop out of

and a part of you that wants to add pressure

to see me twist and turn

and ooze the innards of me

those most private of places

between your fingers

losing bits of me in the grooves of worn palms

sliding over knuckles

scraped under nails with sodden sounds

muffled from getting out.

But hands like yours are cold

and I harden against you

against the demand of your offence

the passivity you wish of my mouth

I will not be bent double of position

to a patronage I do not recognise as the better

nor will I be sent into the fire

to kiln the labels you give me

onto this body that is of mine own making

I will not be placed among your collection

where you believe my only stature to be

silenced to someone who believes that force of want

will put me in my place.

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This Wind You Talk Of

I feel the winds of change dip

and miss their wizened whipping

against cheek

miss the stagger in my walk

Beaufort’s notice now absent.

The air

is

still.

The leaves fall without cushion

hit ground that doesn’t differ

and lose themselves

under slackened feet

heavier step.

Sound echoes,

bounces its impudence off walls

bounces its impotence off shut doors,

peals off unseen ceilings.

Land cut off from sky.

Voice cut off from limitless possibility.

All of a sudden change means something old

not new

something unchallenged

not revolted

something saddened by an about turn in time

to a month before the showers that bring flowers

those symbols of peace

to the hair of people that believed we could

and has set trends

for the comb-overs to come over

all brash and branded

with weapon

with ignorance

to say we cannot.

I feel tongue thickened in mouth

like words’ power has forgotten its cause

because a louder voice,

one no one heard grow

from whisper

to shout

is talking over my monologue

is wagging its finger

is telling me things I know like I don’t

has been joined in choral strength

by those with unlined soles

and closed off souls

to silence those of us who loved that wind

and died when it was blown out.