Kim Salinas Silva lives in North Providence, RI with her musician husband and their Mississippi-rescue dog, Zelda. Eco feminism is the lens through which I see it. I grieve the loss of innocence in our society and wrote this partly as an antidote. It’s also about turning the patriarchy on its head, using sensitive boys as protagonists who love nature and care for it rather than destroying it. I got in trouble for getting berry stains on my Sunday clothes. Sometimes before church, I would pick berries in the blackberry patch. Waits.Īuthor’s note: This poem was written with the images of growing up in Baptist North Louisiana. In the darkness Devil sets traps, poison-baits foxes, rabbits and pink boys. Boys with pink hair, lavender lashes, orange nails, green eye shadow sleep with violets, pink roses. Jerk-twitch and call out Earth Empress watches over them, drops perfumed flowers in their hair. All is perfection.īoys sleep in clumps of clover. Pink boys dance like leaves whistling from trees, spiraling, bare feet chasing. Fireflies light up boys’ eyes, light the path. Sing the song of their newly spun selves. In the darkness orchestra of peepers’ tinkling bells boys’ heads fall back, eyes close, allow Moon-baptism, Moon names boys: Purity. Boys rest on hot sand sand in pink hair, naked shoulders sun-licked, boys rolling in sand. No preacher bellows, no one shakes a finger.Īt the stable, brush the horse, bridle off horse grazes without concern, glossy sweat shining. Tumble into grass, grass stains on white suits. Sunday morning, during church creek bed trickles along, minnows flash below, crawfish ricochet in the silt-shadows, the boys fly, then skim over the water. Rabbits hop into noon light boy hawks nose dive, dig claws into soft fur wheel up and over, twirl in the blue sky like stunt planes. Church bells call out, fading to silence boys answer hawks’ cries instead.īoys sky-rise, wheel in circles over the pasture, seeking prey, small creatures tremble and silent, tucked away in clumps of green grass boys’ arms outstretched, breeze-soaring without movement of wings. Some boys don seersucker, others dotted swiss, now stained purple with berry juice boys lift their skirts over barbed wire fence. Sunday morning before church out pop lizards, green anole, red bib bobbing in robotic threat mockingbird robs songs from twenty different birds, sings them out full throated bees buzz, doze on blossoms in a hazy daze no hurry, all is on time. Sunday morning before church from behind a pine, the Devil files his nails. Boys plucking berries, lips smack red giddy kisses in the thorns, snakes gliding past their shoes. Sunday morning before church in the blackberry patch.
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