Trial Real

Jennifer Annais McSparin

Little Things

There the night awake when keys clank:
my opening-time, this now daily grind

But thankful as the hours seem to be
beginning to flow more swiftly now

Up and at it, excited I am, so ready
for my little glimpse of the sky soon

Insides turning, tuning new gratitude
for the little things. Before becalming

Like skin smells, winds soft as pink plumeria
even sour bitter sweet tastes of life afore

Viscerally Shallow

Though orange never was my color, now
coming to realize that this suit suits me

much better than the gray, blue-gray,
that I gravely could have been

Not a Dress Rehearsal

I wonder what Mom sent up for me
to jump into, will it fit me as I’m stilled?

What color dress of my past
shall I wear while befitting my future?

This boxy garb, love to let it drop (smells of death)
wanna slip to the outside, run back, stage left, yet

No Room for Breathing

All dressed up only one place to go,
right into the elevator down, I meet my husband there

where we stand together for our daily bejeweling,
Nearly drowning in the wont we want, eternal

Rings, chains, dank gun metal and stiffness
weigh heavy in the air, sans the ball, or forgiveness

reeling along while knowing the soap-opera must go on,
For us non-singing soldiers of seeking and song

The Long Ride for a Show of Suffering

Into the wagons we do pile; in mine, my
mind cleansing ride. Ride, belly full of lead iron butterflies

Sky blue sky, white and yellow lines, rising up
The sun, a cloud: changeling, awakening, yet barely aware

Finally we get there, paraded together into cages then staged, with singed wings
front row, concert hall of justice where forced memories sung, we do hear

In the gallery Pappaw Blackie shed his bleeding heart in tears, as it’s clear, screaming out
From knowing eyes before black robes, ties, clickity-clack, back-track, truth and lies

They rest. We fall. We’re cases of certain sadness, blame & sorrow
I feel it deep: this suck of sanguine from my marrow

What is the Meaning of This?

Left anticipating, heartaching, knees quaking: long days we await their moral call-back
these orchestrators, of this juris theater, the ones that levy guilt upon crime, have arrived

Our last performance on this stage of chance. Finished lines of fates: crossed.
Striking, triple time-out-played, out-sung, crossed-double: facts undone for writeover

Standing for the ovation of the occasion: a loaded one word phrase.
No prize earned. Hands not clapping. It is our last scene together, ever

And so it is. Long white gravely road ends, dark in tone, I feel so alone
like the gavel hit a gong. Abrupt, with echoes cutting all surrealities

Real Verdict Reel: So Absurd

Crying out loud. Out of body, then struck by a volt of clarity
there watching from above in sudden, deafening silence

It was at this measure, the coil where I hung, hamstrung by consequence
I slipped the band, like a broken foal, decided this beat could be danced no more

Mind to hem, wild spirit & soul, wrap tight in my loyal-heart (absurdities abound)
certainly caged & moving-on with years to reel my will and unmire my shape and sound