The Human Plow ~ by Elaine Gee (guest post)

Sometimes, the poet paints. This is a guest post created for my friend, upon my request that I be given permission to share. She humbly obliged, and I am most grateful.

Published with permission from the author, pictured.
11138117_1657306994502873_6528003727193837422_nThe Human Plow

all the yesterdays,
I had,
with a bowed head
and meekness,
I believed
I was a fragile
blurry ghost
of a woman,
a girl,
an odor
something
akin to
dirt or dust,
scorched blood
in a sizzling pan,
or the musk
of a rutting animal.
All the yesterdays,
I had,
with a silence
and fear,
I knew
I was camouflaged
from within,
here in the chest,
where it shivered,
under the bed
where I lay still,
so still,
there in the shade
of summer trees
and silent garages
full of spider webs
and sentience.
All the yesterdays
are gone,
And here I come
down the rumpled
city sidewalks,
where women and men
stride arm in arm,
packs of two and three,
where I stroll alone
with an ice cream cone
and a cell phone,
idle and amused,
and as I look ahead
to the three perky
aggressive and
very pretty ladies
approaching,
I square my shoulders
and walk right down
the God dam sidewalk
like I own it,
then a miracle occurs
and the river of women
parts and flows around me,
and the miracle is
me, I am the plow,
I am me,
and I am seen.

copy write, 2017, by Elaine Gee.

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