Yoko
Yoko sleeps eyes open and quite awake.
In dreams she pretends that he’s not really gone.
Her dry eyes weep and she eats only cake.
A man with a gun decided to take
The love that she sang in a brand new song.
Yoko sleeps eyes open and quite awake.
Her hair a black river; the color’s not fake.
The last page is written but the end is all wrong.
Her dry eyes weep and she only eats cake.
The man and the gun turn into a snake.
The son in the doorway reminds her she’s strong.
Yoko sleeps eyes open and quite awake.
Her dry eyes weep and she eats only cake.
Yoko wakes and turns on a shower.
In dreams, John sings his love song in bed.
Down in the street is a rampart of flowers.
Men in suits come to play act their power.
Take care of Yoko, they say, John would have said.
Yoko wakes and turns on a shower.
She hears voices singing from up in her tower.
The men understand that she’s not easily led.
Down in the street is a rampart of flowers
The maid takes the men to the door with a glower.
John stays asleep but now he is dead.
Yoko wakes and turns on the shower.
Down in the street is a rampart of flowers.
Yoko’s hair stays black in defiance.
She wears it long as a widow’s veil.
Her body is small. but her spirit is giant.
She lives out her days in pure self-reliance.
Her eyes never weep her skin beyond pale.
Yoko’s hair stays black in defiance.
Men came in suits and expected compliance.
They labeled her bitch and destined to fail.
Her body is small her but spirit is giant.
Yoko’s music is her affiant.
Something essential born in her wail.
Yoko’s hair stays black in defiance.
Her body is small but her spirit is giant).
(2015 honorable mention in The Pat Schneider poetry contest)
from The Glass Train by Annie Fahy 2017 Amherst Writers&Artist Press
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