Poetry

by

poetry: building another new start

with picking out bright yellow sunflowers from Trader Joe’s and hoping my eyes aren’t still puffy from crying myself to sleep last night

with wearing my expensive Dior lip gloss 026, intense mauve shimmer, because it makes me feel fancy

with drinking water from the turtle cup with the metal straw, the one my best friend made for me, because it makes everything taste better

with seeing the text I sent my dad about my feelings was read on Sunday but he’s still not responded, and deciding not to send another one

with wearing the colorful flower dress my four-year-old nephew said was his favorite because it makes me look like a garden

with playing the absolute stupidest game ever on the Nintendo Wii with the teens, drinking Grimace’s birthday shakes, and laughing so hard I remember kegel exercises are important

with waking up early to water outside and saying hi to three bumblebees and one hummingbird who lingered close enough I could see how incredible their wings are

with moving my watermelon plant to another part of the yard because it’s getting choked out by the enormous pumpkin leaves and wanting it to have a chance to survive

with watching all 10 episodes of Drag Me to Dinner with my daughter and wanting to hug every LGBTQ person on the planet and tell them they are loved

with having teary conversations with my teens about respect and communication knowing they will always have me and each other in their corner no matter what

with replacing the bowl of old candy on the counter with a bowl of fresh apples because I can’t make others love me the way I want to be loved, but I can eat healthier

with turning to words again and not worrying if they are good enough because that’s not the point and I can show up exactly how I am

by

Poetry: Heavy and light

7/30

My body feels heavy
Carrying ancient ancestral groves
Balanced upon my crown
Rooted within acrid soil.

My body feels heavy
Thickly bound bloody strings
Tautly held wounded anger
Attached within my chest.

My body wants light
Clear-cut forests laid bare
Tiny seedlings taking hold
Reaching out both directions.

My body wants light
Sharp scissors slice free
Snapping bright red strands
Allowing one liberated breath.

This ekphrastic poem was inspired by the sculpture above titled “Ancestor 1” by Aisha Harrison. It’s currently on display at the Crocker Art Museum.

More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love

by

poetry: graduation

5/30

the moon, the stars and me 
watched you walk proudly
across the stage. we smiled
knowing the truth. love
doesn’t recognize such things
as endings or beginnings. only
connection and connection. love
isn’t contingent or feeble.
it doesn’t come with strings
or weights. free and full—
vast as the infinite universe.
i’m forever here for you.

The moon during graduation.

More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember

by

poetry: remember

4/30

time isn’t linear at all. broken
hearts know this truth. concentric
circles might be closer. i drive
into the rice fields to see myself
riding bareback, kicking up dirt
into the water. cranes take flight
scared by hoofbeats and hollering—
‘your eyes can be so cruel,
just as i can be so cruel.’ vultures
watch me traveltime, hissing
‘you don’t belong here anymore.’
i know. circling, i turn back.

More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache

by

poetry: ache

3/30

an old ache woke today
i thought it drowned in Miami
while hard waves crashed my thighs
salt meeting salt

but here it is again
calling loudly of hidden rushing waterfalls
not dry deserts or busy cityscapes
chosen not settled

go away, i half whisper
folding myself into my rough hammock
while a tiny brown bird sings
without an answer

More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort

by

poetry: dancing girl

sadness takes residence inside my bones
sometimes. it drives tiny sharp stakes 
deep into marrow before releasing
its large grey tent. i don’t notice
until the fires start and thick smoke
takes my breath away. no. not again.

reaction isn’t quick—no flashing lights 
or loud sirens. instead, i silently wait 
for dancing girl to wake. press needle
onto vinyl. stretch. sing. call. dreamily
she’ll arrive amid bubbles, swirls, golden
light. sadness doesn’t stand a chance.

Note: I don’t always remember the power of movement, but once the music starts my body does. This poem and photos were created as part of the “What Moves You?” challenge. Thank you Michele Lee of My Inspired Life for your continued support of my healing journey. I can’t wait to read all the moving posts.

by

poetry: not my cat

1/30

wandering quietly into morning sun
fluffy-puffed tail held high
he jumps, greeting my hand—
dear old stranger/neighbor cat

friends, I suppose, two strays
looking simply for some comfort
purring for a brief moment
before saying goodbye once more

Note: I’m accepting a challenge to write thirty short poems (not in a row, just as they come). I’m defining short as no more than two stanzas. I was inspired by the beautiful work of my friend Neil—check out his incredible 30 poems. I’m also inspired by sceadugenga who always amazes me with his genius brevity. Feel free to join the challenge if you like.

Edited: A brilliant poet, David, mentioned to me that stanzas can be very long and he’s correct. I’ve changed the guidelines to be under 60 words instead of two stanzas. I think word count is an excellent way to measure these tiny/short/micro/baby poems. Thanks!

by

Poetry: if I am…

if I am storm clouds rolling across the horizon
     fluffy and pregnant
you are a hungry plant 
     waiting to grow from my gentle release

if I am driftwood carried through the moving waves
     slimy and hallowed out
you are a small child 
     building a fairytale castle from my bones

if I am a weed dying in the sun
    drained and tired
you are a wild bird
    pulling me free to line your nest

if I am muddy water pooling near the shore
     unclear and ugly
you are a vast undercurrent 
     diluting my darkness until I can see

if I am a rock on the lake bottom
     lost and afraid
you are a sea monster 
     pocketing me as your good luck charm

if I am teardrops falling down soft freckled cheeks
     hurting and remembering
you are a golden light 
     reflecting your beauty into my broken heart

NOTE: This poem was inspired by reading fellow poet and friend Neil Reid’s poem “if I Am.” Both our poems are influenced by Derek DelGaudio’s “In & Of Itself.” You can watch it on Hulu if you’re interested. It’s magic.