2016)) Flint, Michigan
At the bottom
of the river, sediment has settled
molding itself into a circle of clay children.
The water often whirls. A gust of flakes
breaking off from natural and artificial
matter. Trees and pipes. The brains of kids
who may never carry the flow
of clear thought, its process gushing
rapid and reactive like the falls
after Winter's thaw.
Left here, where the sun still filters
through filthy water, waits the city's shame,
the sunken potential. A chorus of stone singers
who stand with arms entwined, their mouths open
___________________________________P.S. This tragic incident in Flint has haunted me for days; and awhile back, I saw underwater art by West Indies artist, Jason deCaries Tayor, that moved me very deeply. It is , in its own right and intent, a positive sculptural piece that celebrates the blessing of water . However, it became a personal image for me of what my poem speaks about, the lost potential of children who may have had their brains impaired, their body's functioning slowed by lead poisoning. It became the source of a dream; and though surrealistic, it compelled me to write this, giving voice to what has occurred and what demands more light, more action to salvage whatever can be salvaged