I was in the garden of the world, in the middle of a matrix of all
things luminescent and essential a Technicolor whale body of sorts ... and
Yes, healed me, caressed me
Yes opened up like a portfolio of compelling
art, like handsome lightning, laughing Degas, blue plastic
shopping bags crammed with blessings and adulations
It sang likewise, old men drinking bourbon & trading imponderables
It rode spiritual bicycles down roads without
It meditated, it ate cold veggie chix without complaint
It let no frigidity control it
It skipped its viagra and still could roll
Yes, flowed like rivers, it screwed gleefully, toothy-grinned
It settled like unconditional leafs
It painted itself so truly golden ...
Because it made love due to love
and, I was plentiful ...
Plentiful and with outstretched hands
Beautiful rust, rubber inner tubes and dead glitter as well
Yes, yes, yes to the abstract and the concrete,
to the poems God writes in the heavens and
calls them a sky ...
I believe at the edges of existence there is Yes
not the no of mankind ... well, o.k. at least yeah, sure thing or
yep. Yes, is there I just know it sitting in little silver tiffin
boxes waiting for us to consume it.
It has a plum sauce on it of enlightenment.
Normal, free, clean cherries plop in our mouths after
we simply utter it once or twice instead of being
jackasses all of the time.
I believe beyond people who are assholes and
drug addicts there is yes. Beyond, stalkers, little
kids who have no mercy and decide to shoot the bullies
in their schools, beyond little kids who are evil enough to bully and
the tainted parents who sharpened their skills there is yes,
beyond taxes, bills, welfare, wilted salad, flat tires
faked gluten intolerance, eyebrow pimples, mange,
falling breasts, walkers, and kids on Ritalin simply
because there are vast expanses of yes — not diaper rash, or
tortuous root canals, not rehab clinics, not crack addicts wanting to take your
bagel just because you are enjoying it or balloon mortgage payments, twisted
meter maids, pick pockets, not gun toters or war wagersthere is−
Yes. Yes. Yes.
- Romella Kitchens
Romella Kitchens is a Pittsburgh-based poet who has been published in 5AM, The California Quarterly, Main Street Rag, The Autumn House Anthology, Chiron Review, Iodine Poetry Press, Mudfish Review and others. She has done poetry residencies and addressed many school groups concerning poetry. In 2014, she was a judge for the city wide level of Poetry Outloud. Many writers featured in Chapter & Verse are guests of Prosody, produced by Jan Beatty and Ellen Wadey. Prosody airs every Saturday morning on 90.5 FM.