Monocultural Haze

a short leash
pressed arteries
that once choked me
i so couldn’t think
a river of submission
i granted permission to
when i was blind and three
and children
gather on my diaphragm

to play hide and seek
dizzy and vomiting
on the carousel
of the status quo
i harvest them
from scalding metal frames
cauterizing skinned knees

and speak their real names
in the wake of burning fields
my flint and steel
sets us free
~
True art is not always comfortable and never a democracy. It is a mirror to the hidden corners, the dust you cannot see. It is metaphor and analogy with an internal locus that abhors parroting. I have only slightly pricked my finger on the spinning wheel of that tapestry.
~

M.G. Iannucci 2020


Art: “Night Hill” by Andrea Kowch