by Mervyn Seivwright
Sometimes I need a sad song Coltrane serenading
the parts of me whored out as each of us have
Layers loosened enough in clothes to cut skin
from an Uptown Chicago wind whipping corners
I hear a hiss my breath these days withers
Golden hour morning on Dutch coast coasting waves
whistling breeze a gliding seagull sun teasing beyond
the dunes I paint inside my eyes trapping visions
beyond rebirthed Iron Curtain and those that secure it
lawlessly The Cherry Blossom petals have browned
eroded coating an adjacent lake pink to puce
Reaching for Spring in January a mouse in the maze
with only electric shock dead-end-drawn doors I seek
safety for my family the path sells my voice lips
sewn in single stitches daily reprograms my mind
to be subservient The sax horn tingles my senses
The piano my spirit plays remembers my pity
Phone screens plotting brushing bleach pouring
bubbled clay within my crevasses I wonder if
the dream is only deferred Each child story
I read ended in hope a happy finale a utopian sculpture
Children should carry passports home from school too easy
for the faceless men to pluck them off street corners
Watching my grandchildren cheerfully countdown
from five to open gifts their joy tells me a tainted river
can still be cleansed in mountain pass rapids and rubble.
Mervyn Seivwright writes to balance social consciousness & poetry craft for humane growth. He is Jamaican, born in London, England, & left for America at age ten, residing in Kaiserslautern, Germany. He has appeared in AGNI, American Journal of Poetry, Salamander Magazine, African American Review, Poetry.Online, & 88 other journals across 14 countries. He is the 2024 Marvin E. Williams Literary Prize winner & a 2021/2023 Pushcart Nominee. His collection is “Stick, Hook, and a Pile of Yarn,” Broken Sleep Books. (https://www.brokensleepbooks.com/product-page/mervyn-seivwright-stick-hook-and-a-pile-of-yarn).
January House Literary Journal 
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