Jo Lamm
A Simple Picnic
it was
on the 4th of you lie
that’s what i call it
my people were not free
that day
all men
(where were the women)
were not
in fact
equal that day
all men
and women
have yet to be
considered,
treated
equal
a family gathering
mamma’s soft, creamy-yellow
potato salad is satisfying, wholesome
instead of storebought, offensively
orange
(the skin color of that criminal who runs for president in this moment)
institutional potato salad
sweet, tart barbeque with smoky
vegetables hot off the grill
plenty of juicy, fresh fruit
and so many colorful pies
can’t choose one from
another
belly full
the laughter rings like church bells
so why am i
aging backward?
when we notice the
sharp, stunning
cherry cardinal emoting
her joy
why do i long to be
in her small
body
with tiny
stick legs
instead of my
own sturdy
adult build
breasts hanging
like lumps of clay
despite never holding
no milk?
my mamma pointed
out the cardinal,
smile on her
pretty, rose-red lips
sweetheart, she said
look at the freedom
in that there
bird
see how she
holds her breast proud
looking like god’s angel
with that red-soaked feathers
how she speaks her truth
calls for her lover
making that lovely music
momma i thought
kept in my mouth
how come
my song
my truth
my face
never
rubbed you
the right way
never brought
that look of wonder
to your face
have i taken away
your ability to fly
like that little red bird?
mamma,
did you have
dreams,
like i did?
why did you
never
tell
why did you
never
ask