Dellamae• Show poetry

I like the dignity of washing dirty apples in grocery
store restrooms, so we can clean eat them in the car.
I study fact sheets and labels, while dawdling in health
food pantries, so I can breathe the atmosphere of wellbeing
and being well. I ask many questions, though I risk looking dim,
learning about bulbs emitting the natural light of day.
I drink powdered greens that look like murky swamp sludge,
feeling Popeye all the way. I bathe my spinach in olive oil,
extra-virgin only, being just virgin, simply won’t do. I turn
my nose up at chemicals invading my space, and unpurified water
creeping into bathtubs trying to overtake human existence.
I swathe my fat cells in herbal wraps, and cellophane jackets
to sweat out toxins lodged in polluted pores. I soak my feet
in ionized bowls, pulling colors from a dieing liver into pools of foam.
I like growing adzuki sprouts, once I get over the fact, the children hid
a snake in my sprout jar. I ferment organisms that smell like beer.
They’re really not hallucinogen mushrooms.
I look at art like the high of bright cumulous clouds on sunny days,
and smell the yellowing of aging books, like the crisp pages of autumn,
while lingering much too long in library isles.
I like tasting and creating poetry in little cafes, and drinking organic
white tea,non caffeine, when I can. I feel so sophisticated, so elite.
I don’t like to over eat processed sweets, or bleached flour or being stuck
on sugar.It’s the image I’ve known,but have grown to dislike. It’s who
you tried to make me. It’s not who I am.I like telling people I’m a writer.
I really am a fighter, against injustices in life, like babies never making it
out of the doctor’s office,to stroll the isles of a health food store.
I like to worship with winds that stir the soul and arouse a sleeping spirit.
I despise complacency, fake squeaky voices and lies.
I don’t understand people who have nothing to say.
I like marching and protesting causes that need attention, like pesticides
clinging to skins on apples, and babies never having a choice.
I like having a voice, when it’s necessary, for the truth, that I so love. Yes.
I’m cut like that, sliced like an apple, from an organic tree.