It was difficult to process the events that unfolded last night, during and in the wake of the "Ferguson Decision."  So, I did what I do when I can't think...I write poetry. 

this is privilege
my city is burning
and I, removed from birthplace,
from the beautiful contours
of conflict and friendship,
am safely tucked away
for the night...
this is privilege.
the internal convulsions
reverberating through my body, seeking sense...
this is a calling
I cannot ignore
but don't know how
to let it escape (act).

©Erin Croley

In flight to Vegas

I decide it's the petite blond
reading Nora Roberts and listening
to unknown music through headphones from her pink-cased iPhone
who is responsible for the waves
of disturbing flatulence,
so strong I cover my nose
with my sleeves.