Seaweed, I know nothing about
seaweed — the difference between
kelp and anything else is a mystery,
but anytime I’ve seen a kelp forest
on a television show I’ve thought
either that such a place might be 
fascinating to explore, terrifying
to become entangled in — the long
stems and flat hands of black-green
waving, like flags of our forefathers
waving, their entanglement of fury
tinged with fear made over to represent
pride, look at the flags of the moment
claiming to protect innocent masses
stuck down there in the murk
and shadow; I think of the kelp
every time I must go into the crowded streets;
I remember my fear, looking at the others,
wondering who among them  
is terrifying, is furious, is terrified,
is oblivious to fear and anger but is 
nonetheless a danger even without 
trying; I am among them as one of them,
a being moving slowly through
an undulating dilemma: is this 
what we are, is all of this natural,
are we the fury and fear and what is
nature if we cannot separate ourselves
from it, why is it so hard for me
to remember anything but kelp
when I see the word “seaweed?”

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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