Near windows, jaded students gaze
toward freedom.
Watch what you yearn for. Can you
afford freedom?
My teen vow – to be a queen of love,
a disciple of art, a ward of
freedom.
Why did Americans elect a
fascist? Were we bored with freedom?
Starving farmers enslaved by dry
earth.
Finally, clouds gathered. Poured
freedom.
Not apples. Not a snake’s
come-hither hiss.
The lure that can’t be ignored? Freedom.
Tended to with thick gloves, the
broken bat
mended. Wobbled, then soared. Freedom’s
just
another word for nothing left to lose,
Janis knew. Others try to hoard
freedom.
Women, be like goddess sculptures –
open
vulva for pleasure, raised sword for
freedom.
Blues greats gave sorrow a tune.
Rock gods wrote
lust into rhythm. Mozart scored
freedom.
Sour in the convict’s mouth. Tangy
in
the immigrant’s. A fickle word,
freedom.
Pussy hats. All races, faiths, ages, passions united.
Four million “snowflakes.” A
blizzard of freedom.
I try on names like scarves.
Sweetheart. Scapegoat.
Mom. Interpreter of dreams. Bard of
freedom.
--Alison Stone
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