poetry • art • marriage • momhood • faith

It’s more than sex or sex or race …

but it’s usually one of them. It’s ugly and it reeks of ignorance and unfounded anger. It’s the dirty underwear hiding in corners of skeletal closets. Some have several; nearly everyone has at least one. Most of us deny ownership of such a smelly, stained undergarment. And so on the rare occasions when we might actually do some spring cleaning, we have no choice but to re-stash it, disgusting as it might be. Too many “what if” worries prevent us from throwing it out in the trash: what if I need it some day? what if the neighbors smell it? what if the garbage man sees it?

Why don’t we all just get rid of our prejudices? We all have them. They all smell. And they’ll never do anything for us but cause embarrassment.

Why can’t we all just grow up?

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torch bearing quietly

I will not act out, will not
yell or curse or slam doors,
will not make a scene -- you
do not deserve such a chance
to make an example out of me
to be proven right since you
are not. Instead, I'll stand
at this street corner, raise
my hand high and clench that
light which yet remains. It
will burn brightly, quietly,
fiercely before fading as I.

Then I'll be gone but found.

©JAC 2005

Poetry by Julie Ann Cook!

Order your copy of
Love Like Weeds
by Julie Ann Cook
through Main Street Rag Publishing Company.

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