It’s been a while since I’ve checked in here. There are myriad reasons for that: A full-time job, part-time grad school, three kids, a dog, two cats, a husband recovering from a heart attack, weeds, fur in the carpet, laundry, etc., etc., etc. There is probably more to write about all those things- but for now I’m going to shelve all of it. And not even in any orderly way, either. Just like the children’s section at a used bookstore. Careworn things shoved into any available open space. Just to get them off the floor. My whole life is like that right now. All hasty and haphazard.
I miss yawning hours for reflection. But I can’t think too much on that now.
I know, as always, I’m not alone. There are few people I know of whose lives have not been affected by some sort of major trauma, tragedy, or seismic shift in recent months. Unexpected deaths of loved ones, long-term illness, hospital stays, fractured partnerships, family drama. It’s not all bad. There have been pregnancies, new jobs, a billion puppies, pursuing of hobbies, the return to school. (Side note, this morning Lily told me sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and is disappointed that it’s not time to get ready for school. She’s just so happy to be back. These kids- will we ever fully understand the impact of the last year of them?)
Everything feels unsettled. It’s always been unsettled, of course. But now, I guess it’s as if the Dramamine has worn off and I can feel each and every wave knocking into the side of my boat.
Luckily, last month was National Poetry Month, which meant the return of a beloved neighborhood tradition: Poemaday. This year there were a whopping ten poets who committed to writing poetry every day (or at least some days) throughout the month. Every day my inbox was filled with these little treasures that reminded me to pay attention to the loveliness of spring or the deliciousness of chocolate or the mournfulness of living in our skin.
The universality of the human experience.
As is part of my Poemaday tradition, I rounded up some of my favorite verses from the past month to share. Read them all or pick a couple or even just find a line that speaks to you.
I’m too tired for this last one The first two depleted my stores I can’t muster more energy I’d rather have a long list of chores The first one tested and tried me Like only a firstborn can do I was left crumpled and bedraggled Yet recovered in time for number 2 Number two is a different sort of fellow Generally agreeable and kind But his drive demands lots from yours truly His stress is a pain in my behind The tail end of the teen marathon Has four more years living right here I doubt I’ll be able to outlast her So don’t be shocked when I disappear - RB I finally saw them all today Not in tiny, pixilated squares But in real live squirming bodies Beaming and effervescent I finally saw them all today Interrupting and laughing Needing reminders Getting sweaty outside I finally saw them all today Spilling water bottles Stepping on grapes Asking for hugs I finally saw them all today Distracted by each other Needing more reminders Offering help I finally saw them all today Wasting soap Burping and giggling Complimenting each other I finally saw them all today It was glorious - RB
"The Battle of the Shorts" Stubborn nature at your core Pants and jeans strewn on the floor We argue all the way to the door Over the battle of the shorts I try to appeal with scientific reason The temperature correlates to the season Those open leg holes let the breeze in This battle of the shorts You tell me what your friends are wearing Your test of wills is awfully daring I’m so annoyed I’m close to swearing Damn battle of the shorts But for today sweet victory is mine I pour myself a glass of wine Seven going on seventeen, I resign To the battle of the shorts - CG
I'm on the spot tonight I committed to voicing a fallen angel of the god of Story and Song who is walking into a bar in the Elemental Plane of Dread His name is (the fraught silence that immediately follows a storyteller's "and then...") but he answers to Jack I don't know what's waiting for him in there, but I'm going to trust him to handle it He is the shiniest, most polished version of the act I perform for people who don't know me and after walking among the people of the land for 200 years always separate but pretending to be part he is learning what it means to be in a family My character before Jack was an orphan, raised by violence The only name he knew was the syllable he heard voiced when struck and he slowly came to learn How To Be when no one ever shows you how Before that was Ezra Alcoholic, near suicide, had a plan, was too afraid to execute saved by a sliver of faith he found that turned out to be in himself A tarot deck, when shuffled will tell you a story about yourself Don't believe for a second that dice are any different - JP #1 Depression waits until everything is ok Chaos is so easy Nothing requires less emotional effort than an endless string of crises But when all the cards have fallen and you’ve put the whole house back together again and not a breeze stirs the air and everyone you love is safe and there’s nothing to do but wait in the stillness with yourself - JP #1 The ham and cheese I’d hastily crammed into the King’s Hawaiian was an inch from my lips when the cat meowed three times and threw up twice Football pads had been removed from the car after the third time he was called back Her water bottle as well after the same The post-practice ice cream had been obtained The pants she’d wet in the woods when she went off to play removed by fingertips from the floorboard loaded into the barrel of the washing machine The copy of the physical, located It’s photo, sent to the coach The keys returned to the wooden dish by the door and the Appalachian, 6-month aged semi-hard cow’s milk cheese that the owner of the dairy an hour away had been so proud of, that a year ago I’d shaved, melted lovingly over the farm raised scallopini of chicken, that I’d crowned with a paper thin sheet of country ham and sautéed hard until it rendered unto Cesar what was owed to Cesar cleaving to the breast, sealing completely the single perfect leaf of sage I’d stashed underneath before deglazing with local wine mounting with butter letting it nappe over the finished creation and serving it to the winemaker pronouncing it “Virginia Saltimbocca” that cheese That One hastily crammed into the King’s Hawaiian with the cold ham from the fridge an inch from my lips an arm’s length away from the emptied, abandoned ice cream cups adhering to the tablecloth creating rings from the drippings that they assumed someone else would clean with the same surety that they believed they’d be owed ice cream tomorrow and below that the cat - JP #1
So this is how spring is suppose to feel. I didn't know. Her sweet, crisp breath blows promises onto my cheeks And through my hair on morning walks, And, like the puppy on my leash, Tugs me toward the buds and blossoms and colors-- Which before I saw only through glass, And didn't dare touch or smell or pick for fear of scolding-- And whispers into my neck, "They're yours." "Slip one into a book for safekeeping, Take some for your rafters, Take one just for the pleasure of your lips; There's enough and to spare. There always was." And I believe her. I know, this spring, when I tuck my seedlings into the ground, They won't be chastised and stunted by a late frost. Because for the first time in a very long time, I'm not being chased by winter. - JP #2
Discretion is the Better part of valor but Rarely in marriage Do you get credit for what Goes silently unspoken - SK There is poetry all around us In the breeze that rustles the leaves Of the tree upon whose branch A bird sits and sings a song That carries through the open window To my ears as I wash the dishes From the breakfast we ate Together - SK Do as I say, daughter, not as I do Do not watch me wash the clothes and cook the food Vacuum the floors and clean the bathrooms Buy the school supplies and talk to teachers Shop for clothes and changeover closets Make appointments and drive you everywhere Organize vacations and work full time And think this is what a woman should be They told us we could do everything Have it all But they never explained why we should And what it would cost Be a different kind of woman, daughter Make a different kind of world - SK
"Your New Home" You said what we both already knew, You want your freedom. Well, honey, don't let me hold you back. Who can ignore the siren when it calls so sweetly? But did you listen to the whole song? Hear the loneliness and regret in the final verse? Know the chorus fades to ash? And the climax fails to last? What brought you to this new height To a nest that's a little tight-- 'Cause home's not some outer place But a space that you have to face, Full of you and your thoughts and deeds, All your good and all your weeds-- Has very limited wings And one long empty song to sing. - Anonymous
“The High Dive” Some days I long for the high dive. Every summer day after chores I raced over the railroad track to the pool most days I would leave when it closed body bronzed, hair blonde by the end of the summer. The moment I arrived I would drop my towel and bag walk as fast as possible like a penguin (no running of course) to the high dive. I would climb to the top, stop pull back on the rails as hard as I could for a better sling shot effect run at full speed propel myself off the end it felt like flying. Always swimming down, down to touch the bottom before pushing off and swimming like a torpedo toward the sunlight streaming in the water bursting through I would shake my head fill my lungs with air swim to the side and get in line to go again, and again, and again. - TS We used to lay on our bellies for hours in the grass delicately combing through the clover certain, just certain one of us would be lucky that day the smell of honeysuckle braided through the chain link fence so sweet sun warming our backs we would talk about life. We hoped someday to have children live a few houses away from each other raise them together my best friend. On the days when one of us, once in awhile both of us, would unearth a four-leaf clover the world was our oyster. We ended up on opposite sides of the country life took us in different directions. The smell of honeysuckle always takes me right back to our days on our bellies in a patch full of clover the sun warming our backs. - TS
I made a connection while my hands were in the dirt. Weeding is warfare. The wild strawberry - the guerillas - join Creeping Charlie at the ground line, beneath the radar and the mower's blades. Dandelions the citadels of the lawn are always at the ready to burst into a grey cloud of tiny paratroopers. Chickweed. Each a stellate communication center with rays extending ten times the diameter of the hub, carrying up to 800 units of genetic messaging that can last for 8 years before delivery. There are other units in the fray, dead nettle and plantain, nut sedge and petty spurge, factions fighting with each other as they fight with me for that which has caused conflict immemorial - dirt. As I dig and pull, I consider the nuclear option. - JH We hold it in and hold it in And never let it out That wild beast of anger Is storing up accounts Iron bars and iron will Don't ever let it show Just smile tight in silence No one will ever know Don't reckon on a reckoning That day will never come The door will never open The key holder is gone. - JH
I loathed Saturday mornings David at Classic Books Wanda at Library Books The strange smell of used books Dust And Mildew Hours spent on the floor Hoping to pet the shop cat. Twenty-five years later Susan at Lake Anne Used Books McKay's in Manassas The thrill of finding just the right book Scouring rows And Rows And Rows of books Loathing has changed to love. - ES I don't read the comments They provide no joy Just others being rude and usually coy. I don't read the comments It's not that I don't care Just my time is better spent elsewhere. Today I read the comments And I beat myself up For not sticking to my gut. - ES Today I was told that I am a “good mom”. But what is good? By definition, google tells me it is having qualities required for a particular role. Like, “the schools here are good”. When you say, “you are a good mom”, what are the qualities I am trying to fill? Resilient to sleepless nights? Conquering endless days of repetitiveness? Smiling through tears? Laughing in times of frustration? Ability to feel joy? I’m not sure of my qualities, but I am doing the best job I can. - ES
"Justice!" they post on social media "Finally!" they say They cry tears of relief They drink in honor of justice But how the fuck can it be justice when we all saw him kill that man with his knee? How can we cheer that we finally got justice when we watched him murder another human and no one stopped him? How can people say the system isn't broken when ALL OF US watched a man murdered while calling for his MAMA? Justice for one man does not erase eternities of injustice. A step in the right direction, yes. A small fucking step. But a lot of work to still do. Rise up. Don't stop. Get it get it - JW So much of me i see in her I wish instead of my Stubbornness Attitude Snarl Glaring eyes Growling responses Laziness She got my Creativity Chattiness Tendency to over share And maybe a love of something -anything! - other than Kpop. - JW
I wonder about weeds, By definition “A plant not valued” “One that tends to choke out More desirable plants.” As if it’s a decision As if weeds have both malice and intent. Is there a governing body of flora? One that digs out The desirable From the not valued? Has there been peer-reviewed research by PhDs Detailing the deciding designations? Daffodils, not dandelions Hydrangeas, not henbit Orchids, not oxalis Desirable, not valued Cultivate, annihilate No doubt it was a human undertaking As if plants cared what they were called As if they were aspirational. I wonder how we came to love Plains of emerald grass But not seas of wild violets? The word “wild” A commentary on worth Or worthlessness The mock strawberries Curling through my beds Named for what they aren’t As if a plant would ever ridicule another. There are whole campaigns against invasive species As if colonizing and thriving in a new world Is a threat. As if of the millions of species on Earth Only one gets to vote On immigration. I wonder how we can come to love The undesirable? The red dead nettle The white clover The speedwell and spurge The chickweed and the bittercress Can we call them As our favorite children? Can we fawn over them where they bloom In sidewalk cracks and dirt patches? Their humble roots Their intrepid spirits Their reckless abundance - SJ She is herself Indescribable Legs of giraffe Loping arms of sloth Gait (at times) Of chicken scurrying home for a meal Vibrating voice of a purring cat When she’s content Spitting scowl of a hissing cat When she’s not. Sometimes on a walk I have to ask her to stop howling At the dogs in their yards Today on a walk I watched her scatter dandelions- Collected in a hat at her soccer game- Into the pond for the geese Today at the dinner table I asked her not to pretend To groom herself While eating It’s not polite I told her To just be herself As if she could be anyone else As if herself Was ever just one State Of being. - SJ Here’s the room Quiet Except for the dog’s snoring And the clock ticking And the baby chattering over the baby monitor. Here’s the page Blank Except for notes About the dog snoring And the clock ticking And the baby chattering over the baby monitor. Here’s the breath in. Here’s the breath out. Here’s the verse: Here I am. - SJ