Money Ghosts
Detailed accounts will report that we were never there. Control
the heat, the windows, the weather and umbrellas
puff out like chests full of anger; don’t tell me
about dispossession. Thundering across the quaking
copper landscapes, lightning flashes through Mexican airwaves:
balloons in the sky swollen, sinking,
gravity. A startled four-year-old.
Oppression is never in isolation, I release a passenger pigeon
for sovereignty. Impeachment is playful for a billionaire;
what money pulverizes, the poor suffer. The birds sound different,
there’s something they're trying to say. Nets sink across the pond reaching
for eft eggs sticky like semen under the surface. Raucous party bands,
as if we live willingly in our choices–it’s February 2020,
can you feel the good times coming?
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
MACKENZIE SAINS is a poet, writer, and dreamer in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Western North Carolina where she loves to farm and camp. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Poetry from Western Colorado University.