Zada: (def.) “The Lucky One”
©2012 Susan Noyes Anderson
Image: The Meal by Paul Gauguin
Zada was woman, “the lucky one.”
She fed them from her rich, round bowl—
the milk of human kindness, poi of pain.
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Zada was woman, “the lucky one.”
She fed them from her rich, round bowl—
the milk of human kindness, poi of pain.

Protected by the
dark, we cling
to blind security.
We’re yellow at
the center
egg whites of our
eyes won’t see.
Listen as the rhythm
of a heated, humid day
meets the drumming of a
fevered, fertile night.
If you must cut me,
do the job with crystal.
Let ruby gemfire
lick (then burn)
your litany of
leavings
on my palm.
Don’t let the green grow
underneath your feet.
It could be grass, you know;
though eerie green’s been
seen to bode no good.
Nesting in a tree,
resting on its roots,
red-caped superhero sporting
camouflage boots.
she always made him small
it was her eyes
he blamed them,
claimed they cut him
down to size
she said he lies
When things aren’t breaking quite your way
and this world leaves you stuck,
crank it up.