The pleasure is so vast,
Of love.
The couples in my chest
Of memory; the obstacle I sit with
And of pain.
I feel a soul call, and weirdly time calls.
And I wonder what this means
In that there seems no answer in this
Vase. “Ode On A Grecian Urn”
Turns slowly.
My center is so full, and not of spectacle, but of the
Small things and moments
Where all of their lives, combined with mine…
The love for humanity.
A personal-universal,
The blank, and balking plank
And black and white polarity of the words’ needs, and
If they are nurturing
The red rice and beans, the men,
The Cajun, Ethiopian; me, woman, women;
U.S.A., D.N.A., and love for humanity.
Ginger Ingalls 2012
gingeringalls 