May Day

On May Day I take comfort in collecting flowers

one by one a red rose from the mailbox, hibiscus

hidden and blushed from the kitchen door,

a sunny daisy from under my jalousie window.

Birds trill in madrigals accompanied by the soft

pleat of a mourning dove calling May Day, May Day.

A piece of dark blue thread pulled from the hem

of my work dress I wind around the stems to

form a tiny bouquet placed on my desk in the

library. This bit of color red pink yellow reminds

all who see us cheerful petals heralding a

new promise whisper in my ear May Day, May Day

My eyes can't stop caressing the flowers throughout the

day. Work never ends In my captivity even the

chains are only ribbons of blooms to be locked over

wrists. Women here dance on our bones

steel shackled feet all the bruised colors found in

flowers. Voices calling from prison walls Mayday, Mayday.