Bowed by the
weight of
circumstance,
she grips what remains,
and gazes down impassively,
the pain of struggling in her face,
and on her back the burden of loss...
.
And from her
parched cracking lips
wearied prayers are offered,
daily rolled-as-dice blurred words,
being little more than gravelly whispers,
pleading earnestly (amidst a dry mosaic of
stones and dusty furrows) for clement rains
to reanimate the skeletal fields, she once
dreamt would be their Eden...
.
Even so, they court the earth,
in languishing rhythms, scraping,
scratching, turning, folding, speaking to it,
loving it, hating it, as calmness slowly wanes...
.
Snared in dark
seasons of thought,
they often curse their lot –
in cleaving discontent – each
day weathered hands doggedly
bearing the burthen of family misfortune,
where dreams sift through calloused fingers,
and on quicksilver breezes, settle in places where
all such things unrequited finally find rest...
.
© richard lloyd cederberg
3/2023
.
THE PORTRAYAL SERIES: Poetiprose insights about my immediate family and old friends. This series will also address certain of the actors, artists, musicians, and writers I worked with in college, or professionally, all of which were influential (in one way or another) in shaping the man I am today. For Elaine and Lloyd Cederberg
               A NEW RACE OF HuMANS