Monday 11 November 2019

1 Poem by Belinda Subraman


We are dots on a globe

that sustains us.

Our understanding decreases

as historical, hysterical notes

chronicle a human infestation.

The earth cracks, erupts,

bleeds in lava,

cries hurricanes,

wails tsunamis.

We stab and drill inside her

empty her bowels of oil

replace with toxic water

as if she were not living

and we didn’t poison mother.

Our cauliflower ears,

coffee and sea blue eyes

register desire

propped by dogma of dominion

exalted to gods

who enslave their own.

Look, I never gave up alters

but I never gave up reason..

If I just spread my arms,

open my hands

as if to fly like the angel

I believe I am,

my faith will not save me.

My lack will haunt me.

I will fall in the reality

of gravity

as my mind soars.

I may not believe in science

but it believes in me.


Belinda Subraman has been writing poetry since the 6th grade and publishing since college.  She had a ten year run editing and publishing Gypsy Literary Magazine (last century). Six of those ten years were from Germany where she was a Bohemian outcast among officer wives. She edited books by Vergin' Press, among them: Henry Miller and My Big Sur Days by Judson Crews.  Left Hand Dharma: New and Selected Poems published in 2018 by Unlikely Books. Belinda is also an artist who sells work occasionally.

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