By J.W. Ellenhall
Oh Mother, Forgive Us
Oh Mother, My Mother, Our greed smothered your cries. We drilled too deep, drew oil from your veins, until the ground quaked with your screams. We burned your hair, smoked your tree tresses, until tsunamis cooled your aching skin. We filled your sky eyes with fumes, until you cried floods, to see us again. And after all this, when we wouldn’t behave, Father Sun scorched us into stillness with his rage. Oh Mother, My Mother, Give me your seeds of loving patience to sow. Though my hands may toil to repay my debts, All I can give you is only a speck, Of all you gave us, all to help us grow. May I consider, the cost of what you make. Make my hands like yours. To give more than I take.
An Ode to Misfits
What agony it is, Those born too big In homes too small. Trying to rise When they all want To make you fall. With crab-like claws, And thoughtless laws, At you they spit, Cuz you won’t fit, At the bottom of their barrel. Dear fellow big ones, You must stand tall. Can’t learn to run From those who crawl. When they yank your head, To make you look down, Stare up at the sun, For that is your crown. For those born too big, Who rise up too tall, Our home is better, Than one that is too small.
J.W. Ellenhall is an American-expat, multicultural author who’s lived outside the United States for nearly as long as she lived within it. The online writing communities and critique groups that she is part of include the NaNoWriMo circles, the Creative Writing Academy based in Canada, and the Gutsy Great Novelist Network led by Joan Dempsey. In college, she majored in Theatre Arts, Philosophy, and Religious Studies. Her primary passions include volunteering for non-profit organisations and studying ancient indigenous religions and cultures around the world, particularly repressed histories and legends.