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Poetry slam

The Outside In (2 gedichten)

[From my window]

People laid on park green
like thrown-off coats
Every café’s dark
A wind gust picks up
a moving box
Emptily it sways
These are but cardboard days
They pass and I
dump their cutout remains
See me window-framed
halted within
a private early spring

[The outside in]

Since I have made a mess of things
my Mother has taken it upon herself
to cease
the sickening of the skies,
the chopping down of ancestors

She will clear the air for calls of birds,
clay riverbeds for beaver dens,
and too
for me, so I may wander and rest

Meanwhile I am placed under house arrest,
The houseplants rustle a welcome
They leaf
inside out from being outside in

She knows no spite so I will not snarl
at Mother from inside this small
vivarium.
Out of one of its windows I lean some limbs,

wondering where the lines begin
that border the out and inside land
The frames
we inhabit crumble like sand

Where may one find the office jungle
and do the dining woods begin?
Do chairs
grow roots? Does carpet moss hold?
I no longer discern what once I was told

Like a heartbroken lover I cover the home
with reminders of Mother, linking hands
with roots,
resting head on palms
Feel all this life we are growing