Poetry Project
By: Mireya Mota
Ballad of Irma
It was a few years back,
a few years since she met her fate
a few years since she left us
Oh, if only I could turn back time, the hands reversing, clack, clack
Her name is Irma
she was kind and fair,
did nothing to deserve her sentence,
but still, justice moved with great inertia
And so it came, her death
A mess of headlights
and tubes
and awful, awful last breaths.
How could this be?
This disaster isn't real,
but only in my dreams.
Oh how I wish you hadn't left me.
If I Were in Charge
If I were in charge of the world
I'd make some changes,
Like no discrimination
No war, and also no uncertainty
If I were in charge of the world
There'd be a way to succeed
equality, and
maybe we'd all try to understand each other.
If I were in charge of the world
You wouldn't have an empty stomach
You wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow would bring
You wouldn't have to go to sleep with a head full of regrets
Or deep dark secrets.
You wouldn't even have sisters
If I were in charge of the world
someone who was a little quirky,
a little bit different.
and was still a little of themselves
Would still be allowed to be
In charge of the world.
A Cold Winters Day
Three heartbeats
three birds,
and a cold winter's day.
Two flaps,
and then only two birds,
and a cold winter's day.
The birds huddled close,
their soft down pressing together,
awaiting the third.
Hours passed,
and still no sign of their comrade.
The third flew on,
his heart filled with shimmering birdsong
flip, flip, flip
flap
On and on he flew,
soul bursting with great happiness,
on this cold day
onward, onward he soared
singing his praises
his fat body crying out in rapturous glory
a sudden gunshot
and the birdsong rang
no more
as the huntsman walked away.