The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

Poetry

Still She Fights

by

Our planet has spent decades relentlessly battling a disease
She cries acidic tears and rages in blazing fires
Her regal glaciers have begun to crumble and liquify
If you listen closely you can hear her screams of anguish
Her body is bruised and broken, she is frail 
Cracks stretch across her like veins, only they carry toxins 
Her vast oceans boil under the scorching sun beams that pierce the ozone layer 
Her ravishing beauty fades from golden to a tarnished brown 
Still she fights

 

Her illness only strengthens its grip, clawing deep at her fertile soil
She gasps for the crisp air she once had, but only inhales methane 
Her lungs turn black 
scorched, bulldozed, tarred, and polluted with oil
The vibrant watercolors that painted her flora and fauna are replace by charcoal
Years pass and her symptoms go unnoticed 
The fruit of her womb continues to poison her 
Still she fights

 

Seven years, seven years left to fight this sickness, seven years to reverse the damage
If no cure is found she will cease to exist
The root of her infection has been identified, it’s an autoimmune disorder 
Humans.
This toxic disease spreads exponentially, seven billion antigens 
They have waged war on her, drilled into her heart, and remolded her body 
Her amputated limbs have been replaced with mechanics
They have redressed her in piles of waste
Smothering her in plastic bags, forgotten pieces of cloth, and old tires
Still she fights

 

How she used smile incandescently
through the millions of sparkles in the black night
Draped silky tunics
made of the horizons tropical hues 
Laughed angelically
in the light breeze that brushes autumn’s leaves and the soft patter of snow
She danced rhythmically, doing the…  
Scorching salsa of the equator, gelid gallop of the Arctic, and balmy ballet of the temperate zone
Now her mountainous knees are weak 
Her bones have been impaled with fracking poles, and irrigation pipes
Her satin skirts are shredded and stained
Still she fights

Woman

by

I am woman,

my blood a map crafted by

all the strong women that

came before, that fought before.

This copper fuel surges through

my veins, propelling me forward,

compelling me to care.

I follow this map left for me.

It is my guide.

 

I am my mother’s daughter

and for that I am proud.

She is the original owner

of my hazel eyes through which

I see this world and will it to change.

It is her voice in my head that cries

If he can do it why can’t I?

And it is her actions that

provide me with the answer:

I can.

 

I am sewn from a fabric of equality,

with words as the thread that

mends lives and stitches souls.

When woven into hearts

this thread has the power to free

the tethers tying women’s

feet to the ground so we can

climb to the clouds and capture our dreams.

My cloud is waiting.

 

I am indebted to all women that fought,

all women that continue to fight.

Thank you.

The torch is now mine and

I will brandish it with the strength

infused by you into my blood.

It will illuminate the path and

serve as a comfort, for the blood

in my body and the torch in my hand

remind me that I am never alone.

My work begins now.

 

I am continuing this fight

heavy of heart.

Despite all the ground that has been

touched with light, there is still darkness.

Only when there are no more ceilings to shatter,

because we have surpassed every boundary,

explored every frontier and collected jars full

of glittering glass, will the darkness

be eradicated for good.

So I’ll fight.

 

I am woman,

A tapestry of history,

a slate for the future.

One day, when I have the honor

of passing on my blood,

my map,

I hope that it will be an artifact,

rather than a tool,

that the place to which it leads

will have been found and excavated

for its precious treasure.

But if not, I hope to proudly pass

my torch to the next,

knowing that she, too, is dreaming

of following her blood.

 

That is woman.

Wide Wings

by

Editor’s Note: May the memories of lost loved ones be both blessing and call to action. My poem is dedicated to all the courageous survivors in the March For Our Lives movement.  — Grace

 

We give our kids roots

So that they can grow wings.

After teaching them first

of important things.

Guess we didn’t know

How far kids can fly

After growing up watching

Small children and peers die.

Their wings spread wide

And views heard across the land

We watch in awe

And also, extend a hand.

We prefer their teen years

Be ones of learning and calm

Preparing for college

Nurturing friendships

Enjoying the Prom.

Hey corrupt politicians

Entrenched in D.C.

Taking NRA dollars

With winks and more glee

You’ve heard our kids’ cries

They were loud and clear

Will you work toward change

Or mock & disregard all fear?

If it stays the latter

It doesn’t matter.

We’ve got these kids’ backs.

You will be remembered

In the dust heap of history

As evil political hacks.

But I’ll end this poem

In gratitude to the children

Who bravely shared visions

of a world

So many hope to live in.

 

Haiku addendum:
 
No words to describe
The pride and hope kids revive
These will have to do.

 

 

 

The Broken Soul

by

 

I found my soul upon the floor it was hiding behind a few locked doors; of childhood games and yesterdays I stumble on it by mistake. I was looking for some memories of someone I forgot to be.

It looked withered and all washed away like something left over from yesterday. It looked smaller than I remember, shattered by lies and burnt by embers, and it was torn by the lies of love it took me a moment to realize what it was.

I tried to pick it up off the floor by the memories I had before, although it seemed small and very weak the voice seemed stronger when it started to speak. And in its eyes, it did seem to care, but it was not happy to see me there.

Go away you have forgotten! And you left me here in a past to rot in! It showed my shame and let me know I was the one to blame that it had to go. 

You once had dreams that made me big; of equal rights and fights to win, and of being fair was for everyone, and how it matters that no job was left undone. And you use to laugh with such abandon, and you helped with hands of innocents and understanding. And how you would fight for what was true, you would always let me always speak to you.

And how everyone that was a friend; you would be loyal with until the end. You use to care for your fellow man and protest and take a stand.”

But I was so young; and there were others, and most fights were not for me but another, it seemed to hard and no one cared and I got tired of being everywhere, I had a life and little time. And youth, that was no friend of mine.

This was my excuse but still my soul pressed; so it was no use I should have guessed.

And your values got eroded. When you got pressured and you got goaded you forgot how to stand for what you believe, I begged you to stand but there was no reprieve.

You turned your back on what you thought was good; and I did the very best I could, and it was hard and as time marched on you heard a louder voice and you were gone. You wanted things I could not give; like green paper from the ATM!

“Well you just don’t understand this life was not what I planned, I have to live, and I have to eat.” Was my defense but I felt defeat.

And you no longer sing, instead you Twitter, you made cyber friends on a book with no real paper. You see plastic people on electronic devices, and you believed their shit they had to write, everything it seemed so fake. But you fell for it, your big mistake. My voice inside it got so small. You no longer cared and I learned to crawl.

But you were with me each and every day. You could have shouted or got me back another way. This is not my fault alone to change a world that I never owned. You could of helped me be true or you could of left and I would of followed you” I justified my misbehavior but my souls true voice it did not waver.

I could not leave because it’s you, and I am just a part, so what did you want me to do. And when you found you could not get to the top you sold pieces of me it just got worse and you would not stop.

The things that you once held dear you pushed aside you longer cared.  I saw the little things you use to love get pushed them away for bigger stuff.

You did what they called an upgrade you wanted cars, jewels or better things. You ripped me apart for who you use to be; to be someone else eyes blinded by greed.
I tried to stop you and remind you of what you once believed, but those things no longer mattered and your feelings reprieved.  And you had no time to hear from me and I couldn’t fight so I set you free. 

You wanted things to you that mattered; and you hushed my tirade and so I went to the shadows. Hoping someday you would remember; but now I wait to die; your soul surrenders.

I felt my being fall apart as I realized what I had lost, I was something I was not and maybe that was my true cost.

I felt my soul start to slip away but before it went it turned to say “What brought you back to this forgotten place?” I looked at this being with my face.

“I forgot what I was to be.”

Then it laugh and said “Well now you see.”

It turned away and went back to the floor and crawled underneath another locked door. And this new door I had not opened yet out of only my fear it was the one marked Regret.  I wanted it back; but it didn’t matter, we had our talk and my soul was shattered.  

So have you mended your broken soul or has your greed taken control?

Can you pick up off the floor the person you had been before or is it too late to find it yet and is it behind the door Regret. Open the doors and set if free and maybe you can find who you use to be.

Her Impression

by

By Matanya Harow

swirl

Apples carved with numbers
Floating strands of hair
Lights are out
No one’s home
Sick because I care.
Mirror stands, triumphant
A liar to its core
Jumping jacks
Shaking knees
Nothing left to store.

Alone inside her head
All else wastes away
Fragile bones
Empty flesh
Starving day by day.

Parents, disregarded
Ruled by rules alone
Fearing food
Loving food
Self-control is shown.

And I’m her older brother
I witness from the side
Shouting fights
Tears of fear
Other things implied.

Family, torn apart     
Hospital, depression
Sneaky truths
Little tricks
Driven by obsession.

And I will not complain
Hide it all and cope
But it’s hard
And I’m lost
Left with only hope…
Only hope…
Hope…

Matanya Harow, 18, graduated high school in Israel this past June. His poem is about the impact of his sister’s eating disorder on himself and his family.