Belinda Subraman
Beside writing and publishing for decades, Belinda Subraman was a Registered Nurse for 14 years, mostly in hospice. She’s also an artist working in ink and acrylics. She’s a member of several drumming groups and has been playing African rhythms for over five years taught directly from African masters. She also has a daily yoga practice and a book of poetry called Left Hand Dharma published by Unlikely Books in 2018.
How much unthinkable evil pushes suddenly in to the
heated rooms. To the rigid impotence of shoulders and neck
there is irritated angry mood in every motion, in this pretty
voiced bird, that can hide under a single green leaf
Speech was discouraged
to keep from setting off
the man of fire
who would lash and scorch
then burn you down.
Sun cracked grass signals
the yellow haze of transition.
Pinon fire in a kiva stove
is a Southwest desert Fall
in the armpits of tradition
and passionate drumming.
I sense my grandmothers.
I am now the age
they always seemed to be
with stern blood understanding
once removed from the sting of judgment.
“The white cops were right,” they chanted,
more Blacks need beating
and we need more guns.
Too many getting rich off welfare
too lazy to work.”
You offer vacancy
where something mattered,
put chains and locks
around the clouds
stockpile guns
to kill the sea.
