The Carrot Words

I had plans for this day to be bad. 

It felt appropriate. 

Like, not showing up to the wake in a clown suit. 

But, just like the day after we elected him 

Words.

There they are. Like the earthy orange tops of carrots 

just waiting to be pulled up. 

And lots of them too.

juicy, and snappy 

And when words come that way to me 

it feels like the bucket overflowing 

and each part of the truest part of me is holding out their hands

the painter

the writer

the poet

the photographer 

gimme gimme gimme 

And then, on the day that had plans to be bad 

the painter/writer/poet/photographer have their parched hands full again

and you know damn well that they get right to their joyful work 

of turning it into whatever magic comes out of fingertips into keyboard, 

or paintbrush to canvas 

or from one closed eye to the click of a shutter 

or this, 

I suppose whatever this is. 

So the carrot words 

came like this…

about the alternative economy 

we know it though invisible 

no green paper or metal coins to give it away 

but an exchange of love, of time and presence and energy and attention and pleasure and intention that the oligarchs just can’t seem to get their greasy fingers on just yet. 

I think you know it. Or I guess I hope you do, or we all do, but I think it’s there in the marrow, in the spirals of DNA, the knowing that it never has to be this way another day, if we really wanted it to be the last day

I wonder if it was whatever spirit ignited the day we became human, the moment, perhaps only for a brief moment when we knew that it was possible, the ideas of us 

now considered utopia 

like out of touch 

fanciful 

but as close as touch 

and as full of fantasy as we can stomach 

I suppose the folly is in wanting it universal. 

And today’s lesson is to tend it anyway 

here

with the people i know 

know 

and 

want

it

too