Barbara MacKay

Take Us In

 

A nameless wind raps at my windows should I let it in.

Sibilant, persistent, baritonal, (homeless?) should I let it in.

 

I’ve seen rubble, bones, fragments of flesh, skeletal dogs.

My heart cold and distant, should I let it unlock, let the detritus in.

 

I was a loser, sister to gutter rats, addicted, shaky

Starved, unkempt and inarticulate, no one would let me in.

 

You see them huddled under culverts, crouched beneath heavy foliage

Dressed in layers of threadbare, the library used to let them in.

 

Am I blind, deaf to horror, disintegration, a rapping wind, the other me (long dormant).

We are fragmenting, we are marginalized, quick, wrap us in glue―take us in.

 

We’re traveling fast and far hoping to stir the winds of change

Traveling toward a promised land that used to let us in.

 

 

Bio (as of 12/29/2016)

I live in Little River, Ca where I am a member of a writing group and a member of the Mendocino Writers Club, a charter of the California Writers Club. My poems have been published in several literary journals and various haiku and tanka journals.