Ode to Trailer Trash
Trailer trash:
who didn’t understand
the endearment,
the mock insult
Trailer trash:
who walks
with no shoes
through glass
and beer
and blood
never cutting
her feet
perfect feet
dark
dark, pale
but darkened
by the street
the street
a sanctuary
a home
Trailer trash:
trashing
traditional beauty
with sandals,
with bare feet
with too much gold
and not enough clothes
with slang,
with beautiful
vulgar language
with cheap wine
with cigarettes
and green
Trailer trash:
who brought
tears enough
to melt
the skin
from your bones
igniting something
in your soul
that cannot
be extinguished
who the moon
broke down for
crying
tears
of amber,
lighting
your way
your way
that saw
me
stop
dead
in my tracks
to lay down
and die
in the heavy
rain
of my broken head
and heart
who caused
me to write
words
in blood
that were
washed
away
to nothing
Trailer trash:
carved
of stone
and dirt
still
playing
cards
with
the
door
open
and
the
light
on
Trailer trash:
who
gave
me
water
on the steps
when
I was
thirsty
a few summers
ago
who
remains
there
smiling
in my
mind
Sunflower
(For Scarlett – with all the love I know)
The day is blue
I have seen score
and six
more summers
than you
and grown nothing
in this time
we plant seeds
I watch
your perfect
fingers negotiate the task
at hand
you wait patiently
checking everyday
for signs
as you sleep
I fear death
in a new way
as
unborn flowers
come to be
the symbol
of disappointment
soon enough
a shoot
gives
you
the
most
beautiful
smile
I
have
seen
you
wear
one survived
the others
dried out
got eaten up
you watched
it reach
mast-like
until the bud
opened out
into a perfect circle
strong
taller
than
you
us
I took a photo
of you
together
that was
a happy day
time moved
around you
like a soft
breeze
freezing
only to show
you
the
flower
curled
down
first lessons in death
along with the fish and
the mouse that I tried to
explain away
this is different
because you witness
the cycle
in beauty
in cruelty
you cry
and see him
head hung
bent over
like a beat sea-man
looking to
the fate that awaits him
in the deep
the depths he
must go to
we leave the sunless flower
tied
washed up
anchored
against the dock
a shipwreck
of rotting leaves
bending to the end
bowing to the earth
it hung there
through the winter
as a beautiful reminder
and even in this
the following summer
I can see something of it
a part that was not cut down
This will be a memory
I saw you
sweeping the front today,
It almost broke my heart.
It was typical of you,
cleaning, working.
Typical of so many women
I’ve loved
and felt I had to leave,
but still loved.
I had to wait all day
to cry alone,
in the solitude
of my room
and as I do,
I remember you.
Remember the only time
I ever saw you cry.
In your room
In the dark,
your baby in arms
but you knew how much
I loved you then,
so it won’t be this image
that haunts me when you’re gone.
It will be you
sweeping the front,
not knowing I’m watching,
not knowing I love you.
The Beauty of being Hated
These poems are drawn from Jack L. Willetts’ new poetry collection, The Beauty of being Hated
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