This morning, a cardinal
lands on my back fence,
opens its beak.
Nothing.
Even the birds
save their songs
for weather worth singing about.
The papi store thermometer
......
What kind of honor, what kind of pride,
That steals a life, and lets justice slide,
For love’s sweet crime, blood is spilled,
This cruel game, where mercy is killed.
Old traditions, customs so bleak,
Where women are stories, forbidden to speak,
No right to live, no dreams to bloom,
What kind of society, what kind of doom?
......
This morning, a cardinal
lands on my back fence,
opens its beak.
Nothing.
Even the birds
save their songs
for weather worth singing about.
The papi store thermometer
......
What kind of honor, what kind of pride,
That steals a life, and lets justice slide,
For love’s sweet crime, blood is spilled,
This cruel game, where mercy is killed.
Old traditions, customs so bleak,
Where women are stories, forbidden to speak,
No right to live, no dreams to bloom,
What kind of society, what kind of doom?
......