Rallying the Underloved
On behalf of the misloved, I am
making this call for us to rally up
our secluded grieves under a common tent
and have a meal together. I beseech the unheld hands
to weave or stuff a red rag into the holes
of long-unnoticed merit which would sit alone
rocking and deaf-humming to itself
under clouds that are doing relatively well,
progressing towards their predicted grades.
Let’s rather share our sad desserts
than throw our disappointment to the face
of those that cannot love us better.
There, there, I know, sister, brother,
my darling stranger, you are right,
it is a blatant shame, a stop sign
holding up the entire universe,
an earthly diversion from your early hopes,
a fine issued to the thrush that sang,
who now finds nowhere for a nest
in a hedge hacked for urban maintenance.
Come, let us reason together,
ache at least for the better end,
park anywhere the fields are lovely
regardless of the double yellow standards,
leave the corners of ill-mannered thoughts
for Tuesday’s waste collection,
buy a round of loving admonitions.
Let’s ask for our foes to be rilled on
by blessings; you too, who have been
a life-long hindrance to yourself.
Did you speak in a rush? Repent at leisure,
enjoy the luxury of reconciled seasons
in an outdoor armistice to lean
against a backdrop of climbing vines
dripping, dripping with that honeysun
translated in the lullaby of grapes
which waits expressly crushed for you,
mulled for that betrothal smile of yours,
poured for your vowing eyes, into a cup
from which we are both drinking now.
And find a home not made by hands,
and nevermore to be burgled by the night.