100 days

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poetry: tonight, part two

and when i crested the hill, i found the resonant moon birthing through a cloud canal. its hips wiggled bit by bit through a thickness trying to hold it back, like too-tight bands or pocketed joints or air made sticky by consumption. i watched its indecision battle compulsion and felt moved by its need to light. astute wind arrived with seven geese, who rang out alarm, calling dead grasses to attention, and stirred leaves within my chest. oh, broken pendulum. cracked stone. pillar leaning toward earth. allow affection to consume me, moonlight to penetrate aggrieved bones, until all upon the hill moves as one, a lunatic motion of worship for all the ways we ache to live another day.

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poetry: canning

my mother turned 70
and took up canning,
a fun hobby to fill
her retirement time.
she proudly delivered
a box to me—jams and
salsa, and sauce. colored
love trapped in hard
glass with golden tops.
“you should get bags
of rice and beans too,
every week,” she said,
touching my hand.
in case.
in case.
my mother turned 70
and took up canning
because she’s worried
we won’t have enough.

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poetry: me, today

i’m a shadow witch
pinned to pavement
perpetually sweeping
where others freely walk.
made of uneven gravel,
i hide twisting stone
roots, withering debris,
and buried love. i’m afraid
of forgetting your sky,
nestled clouds, how eyes
shine through fog. i’m
a nervous dog barking
behind a fence, a coyote
chasing grassy shadows. 
i’m a worm wiggling
toward fresh rain
hoping i’ll be
understood.

*80/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. All photos are mine.