Grandmother’s Bedtime Stories
Floral pastel couches, red rooms
Leading susceptibly into a dark bloom
Sitting and waiting for black and white news.
Quickly they come with their green and their gold
Faces of stone tell us to take what we can hold
I hold my children, run I was told.
Machines everywhere, they worship construction
Made by man, the root of destruction.
I look up to Him, and wait for my introduction
I receive no answer.
Maya is a poet who likes pasta.
Follow her at: maya.o.papaya