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When Captain Planet Can’t Save Us

It snowed in the Sahara Desert. The Great Barrier Reef is dead. Texas has no winter and still I always need a sweater.   The Great Barrier Reef is dead but Disney/Pixar didn’t get the memo. I wore a sweater during Finding Dori, did not cry or finish the movie. Disney/Pixar still don’t know their formula is like Australia’s coral. I did not cry or finish Finding Dori, was not interested in movies made after. Australia’s coral is dead, bleached and faded. Less than 100 Florida panthers roam the wild. Stories of their sharp teeth do not interest me. Nature documentaries make me want to die. Less than 100 Florida panthers know freedom. They will say, “Better captive than dead.” Nature documentaries are too life-like, too real. When we burn, the flames are called beautiful. Cages are offered as the only alternative to death. Last year it snowed in the Sahara Desert. When we burn, our captors call it beautiful. Our bodies have never known winter.

Birds, Clouds, Earth

Blue Jay says the rain tastes funny. The Air got a new feel. Not new like shiny. New like off somehow, like the Clouds are confused and forgot what it means to make love. The Earth tries to remind them but they can’t hear her. It’s not that she’s too far away or her voice is too soft– she knows how to project. But even she can’t be heard over people and people and people. Crow says Blue Jay is late– the Water has been rotten a long time, but what can be done? We must drink to live. The Clouds, heavy with poison, are still beatiful. When the Earth speaks to deaf ears, her voice does not stop being holy.


my uncle calls me each day. i push five to hear his voice. i come home to letters written in blue ink that tell me /know that you are a strong woman and the first teacher of civilizations– know that we have not had a bad day if we wake up in the mornings/ i want to live in a world where my uncle wakes up in the mornings and eats a breakfast of his choice– a world where men who kill teenagers for looking suspicious carrying skittles and ice tea aren’t released and then pulled over for speeding– a world where a man who says ican’tbreatheican’tbreathe ICAN’TBREATHE is not murdered by police in a chokehold–a world where kids aren’t killed by hunters with guns poaching in streets shooting animals without defense of teeth or claw, but with largelarge body–the thrill of the conquer– darkdark coat–how fine it will look on their wall.

For Giselle

Hello, WordPress readers– I have not met you. I probably have not corresponded with you. I ask for your help. We have a beautiful poetry community in DFW. The woman who is our rock is sick. Giselle Robinson, our center, our peace, our home when being in that place we live is too scary or sad or empty, was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer. She is the light in SO much darkness. God is playing the worst joke. The most giving person I know now needs help in a very real way. From one poet to other poets, for one of the best poetpeople I know– Please help ❤ Many thanks and much love, Fatima Donate to Giselle.

Of Having Janie and Tea Cake in your bones

One day my feet will find the water again. I do not understand why seagulls exist in Arlington, Texas. Their presence stings like a ray and I am reminded That there is no beach a bus ride away– There aren’t even buses in this Place that smells like Flat tires with no jack and books with the last few Pages ripped out as a joke. Never children shouting over the roar of waves as soundtrack to end of day Hell. Everything is just A little bit off in a way that mosquitos here Don’t even feel like real mosquitos– They don’t come from dynasties of Killers of men by the thousands. They don’t know about fever In Texas. They don’t know the history of water.

Moon, why are you so quiet?

Because the world is so loud And you cannot hear me. Because the world is so frightening And I am speechless. Because the world is so beautiful I am afraid that if I make a sound I will ruin a moment that will never be remade At any point in time on any floating rock. Sometimes I sing to you in dreams, Do you hear me, then? Do you think of me when the song you heard In sleep finds you during the day, When the movies I played for your closed eyes Find you in the harsh light of the sun— When I show pictures of moments soon to pass Are you surprised at my quiet? Being so powerful is exhausting. I have no words left after moving tides And talking to gods.

Cancel the Apocalypse

1. Last person I made a promise to: Nick 2. Someone who lied to me: Greg 3. The place I feel at peace: Nick 4. Two things in my pocket right now: nothing 5. The last song or artist you heard: Saul Williams The prompt: Incorporate all of the above into the last seven minutes before you, #1, and #2 change into zombies. On the news it happens so fast, The change, the way our souls vacate Our eyes and fly away to somewhere safe Where monsters do not exist. We have under ten minutes, it feels Closer to seven. I wonder if I kiss you Will heaven find us sooner? I promised I would love you forever. Til Death Do us part—but He will not get the chance. Instead He will take the man who lied. He will still be alive after we have changed And I will eat his heart like he ate mine— Slowly. Violently. There will be tears Before the red floods his vision. I will Give you his brain. You …

lunch time talk

completely selfish and trivial things i want rightnowthisinstant: -sushi -two veggie tacos from fuzzy’s -caramel ice-cream -st. pete beach -a snow week from work -to be 35 -a long, white dress -a ride in a hot-air balloon -to sit outside without hearing cars or planes -a giant dog -simone -my nana sometimes i wish i were a man just so i could go camping alone without fearing other two-legged animals. coyotes and bears don’ scare me because they at least won’t play with their food. last night there were these two girls talking about other women’s feet, about how they needed pedicures and omg did you see her calluses? they obviously hadn’t noticed me in my flip-flops. i refuse to spend money to have a stranger touch my toes. i think nail polish is gross. i don’t care that my heels are hard. one thing i have no patience for at all are meth-heads who bring me their dumpster-dives at work and want to cry and whine and throw fits when i offer them 25 …

backroom blues

go all the way to the back of the store. go through door into back room and turn immediately to the left. slide between desk and table and walk all the way to the wall. turn left again–second cube down label reads parenting. inside three stacks of books to display. i wanted to change the endcaps today but that was before the hole came open. those things i was supposed to make seen made me fall apart. large photo album in my hands became prettier than the ocean at the end of the lane. yellow, least favorite color in the rainbow now beauty in my heart. it had thirteen squares to hold pictures, space for one year centered and places for birth through eleven months running from top to side to bottom to side. each square a place-holder baby who smiled bright-eyed or played with toes. no one else was in the back room for this moment. me free to cry alone in hot corner a mourner for a child who still hasn’t lived. i …

corn moon blood

people submerged to their necks in pools look like bobbleheads. they said i should go in. they wanted me to swim but outside was too nice alone in my thoughts. no splashes or waves with them tonight. me zen on the side, legs wet, light flickering through feet. me still, quiet, watching.