Let Fury Have the Hour

By: Ruth Lysse

A black cloud from the south.
Oil reigns black tears.
An endless pool
Sinks heavy
Creeping illness
God is not knocking
If we lock arms
It seeps through
The weight the weight
Earth binds our wings
I was baptized in her waters
Now sinned by man’s hands
Spoiled perfection
A poisoned garden
An explosion, then silence
We suckle at the beasts’ tit
Black pearls in hand
I say a prayer
By the foot of the oyster bed

God is not knocking
But our mother is watching
You oppress the humble mans opinion
You ignore the bolts of lightening
So you will have your day of reckoning
By her hands we swear
On their knees in the oil
Drink our revenge!
Burning black tides!
Wash into your high rise office!
Bleed with your earth!