Thursday, September 22, 2016

Day 15: Grieving the war

I don't know how to explain the warzone I work in because
there are no tanks, or guns --
except for when there were, once, last year during the uprising after
Freddie Gray was killed and I
walked in to work past the National Guard lining the streets in
riot gear.

But it's not really about that because the warzone I work in is
the police problem and the
poverty problem and the
oppressed people problem and the
hungry children in a food desert problem, and the
shitty schools that do illegal things routinely problem, and the
no way out problem.

It's the "my house burned down in the snowstorm" warzone, and the
"I might get deported" warzone, and the
"they got rats in the daycare" warzone, and the
"don't speak the language and nobody gets me an interpreter" warzone, 
and the war of: "can't pay my BG&E bill," and "don't have a working car" and "got a kid with a disability" and "school keeps calling me to come get him so I lost my job."

And me --
most days I show up with a pen knife to the gun fight.
"With all due respect, ma'am," he told me,
"you say you understand that this is hard.
But you don't."
He's not wrong.
I can feel it in my bones, but I
will never have to live it.
I feel so
small, knowing there is not an
enough that can stop this
bleeding.

A patient arrived nearly half an hour late today.
He was pulled over by the police for speeding.
He left the session and I cried:
grateful he
made it alive. Praying he
made it home.
Allowing myself 5 minutes to
grieve the war.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Day 14: Unpoemed

Here's the thing: this isn't really a poem.  

Here's the other thing: this is my blog, and my poem, so I get to say what's going down...and tonight, I say this is as close as we're getting to a poem.  

There are things that are not poetic but can be poemed:
Earwigs.
Chapstick that melts in your purse.
The number of dead bugs collected in the light on my ceiling that I cannot remove.
The incessant barking of the dog next door.

And there are things that are poetic that cannot be poemed:
Your mother asking you to help take your grandfather's car.
Joint pain that radiates your body.
The raw hurt that comes when you read a person wrong --
or when you read them right, but hoped for more.
The aching wound that friendship leaves.
The ways our history lives in our bodies.
Feelings that float to the surface.
Looking for gratitude, and breathing only into the statement,
"I'm alive."

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Day 13: Name This

Of course, I know this isn't technically day 13...but I needed to take two days off of poeming for lots of reasons.  So here's day 13 of my 30 days of poems...they just don't happen to be consecutive days.  

I shared this poem at church this morning.  I think it's actually the first time ever I have read a poem aloud and my body has not been shaking.  I liked that feeling.  

Name This

I have always been precise in my naming.
I want the just-right word at the just-right time:
I wield the power of my wording like a weapon.
Verbing nouns, changing phrases to make them new
and surprising, I move
to the matters of soul
heart-clenchingly quickly--
hold on, y'all.
This is how things get real.

See, as babies, our parents label our worlds:
"Do you see the light?"
"That's your shirt."
"Big yawn."
"You are so silly."
As toddlers, we ask the questions.
We point and show, and
each item is told to us over and over until
we can hold our world in our crumb-encrusted fingers.

My family cat's name was Coo Coo.
Coo Coo was one of my first words,
and everyone thought it was because
I loved the cat until, at age three
I told my mother that Coo Coo
was despicable.

I wonder how long it took me to find
the just-right word to name that, as playmates go, Coo Coo
was always a bit of a jerk.
I wonder if pride
surged through my three-year-old frame as I knew
I had found my just-right word, had
named the feeling exactly right, I
had spoken.

But just-right words are hard to find,
hard to use, hard to believe in;
naming our lives is not as easy as labeling
lights, and shirts, and
sometimes, I fall away to
solitude and quiet
un-naming of myself and my place, but wonder:
how do I name this worth?
this reclamation?
this embodying?
How do I name this way
I live my world?  I say
here is my heart. 
I named it Myself.
It is power.
It is existing beyond, it is
a word after
a word after
a word, it is naming:
here.  I am here,
holding my world in my hand.
Let me show you the color, the shape
the weight of it.
How heavy it can be.
Stay with me so I can
open my fingers.
Let me show you how beautiful it is
when it hits the light.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Day 12: Epigenetics

I don't know how many
lifetimes a child must
die through to end up
sitting in my office with
eyes like caverns that
echo:

a body is not big
enough to hold that
grief and so it
hollows
like a grave.

Day 11: Love letter from a flip-flop to the arpeggio: A story of unrequited love

Day 11/30

So...it's not that my creativity is waning...but...I maybe needed an idea of what to write tonight, so I went to Facebook again.  This time, I planned for tonight AND I planned for the future, because these poems are fun, and I figured maybe I will do one more if I get some good words...we'll see how the rest of the days go. 

At any rate, here was the word call: "Needed for two upcoming poem challenges: Four random things.  (I need concrete item type of things.  They can be random, but they need to be items.  Like toothbrush.  Or printer.  Or ferris wheel). 

As was the case yesterday, they did not disappoint.  Here is the list of words:

buggy whip, giraffe, tank top, Purple Pieman & Berry Bird Pop! Figure, key lime pie, archipelago, flip flop, tea pot, arpeggio, koala, febreeze spray, pool noodle, palm tree, vagina, clitoris, vulva, tissue, diet Dr. Pepper, trash can, peach, geode, flute, puppy, tail, pollywog, kombucha, water bottle, credit card, metro card, keys

With that in mind...the prompt is "write a love letter between two inanimate objects."  I'm thinking, of course, of Sarah Kay's amazing "Love Letter From a Toothbrush to a Bicycle Tire."  I took a stab at one a while ago -- "A love letter from the bell to the air."  

So from that amazing list of words above, the most obvious and only choice to me is to write...

Love letter from a flip-flop to the arpeggio: A story of unrequited love

I have loved you since first note.
Sitting on my shelf at Target,
waiting for my forever home, I was
practicing my monotone flips and flops, when you
came over the muzak-playing radio station in
soaring, trilling, rolling, resounding tones.
You sounded like
the first flip-flop weather day, like the
going to the beach day, like the
went to the park and did not step in dog poop day,
and made me want to sing my droning song with
new life.

One time, I tried to tune myself to your key:
hit my flop square against a foot I thought would be tuned to G, but it was
just a little sharp:
you flawless stream of music.
I love the way you
start out slow and then
become faster, almost
falling over yourself -- like I do when I run and my flips and flops smoosh together
becoming flops and flips
down and up, up and down --
we have so much in common, you and I.

Dear Arpeggio,
bounce with me along the paths of life.
Let us race up and down the scales together:
you holding tight my strap, and I, holding firmly to your notes, and together, we will create a masterpiece of tonal flips and flops --
you sweet chord.
Let us rest together gently upon your staff and I promise
to forever bring you home
to middle C.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Day 10: Bathe Me Glorious

Things I learned just now:

Some of my friends are jerks and they're lucky I love them anyway.  

I had no idea what to write tonight, so I posted this on Facebook:

"Help a sister you commits herself to stupid challenges out:
Give me 8 words.  One word per person.  Any word/form of word.  First 8 words win.  And go.
(2015s version of this challenge can be seen here: http://autodidactpoet.blogspot.com/2015/06/day-11-i-wish-for-you.html)

It started out innocently.  The first 4 words were:
Grace
Blue
Revolutionary
Fierce

And then came:

Terpsichorean
Wallaby
Deoxyribonucleic acid

And the final word: 
Elusive

Luckily, I have been playing this game for a VERY long time.  And the more people are assholes and give you RIDICULOUS words, the better this game becomes.  This poem?  20 minutes and done.

First: definitions.

Terpsichorean - of or relating to dancing
Deoxyribonucleic acid is just DNA all spelled out and fancy like.
And this fella is a wallaby.



Bathe Me Glorious

In the terpsichorean mystery of time,
evolution beckons us forward from cells to
wallabys, from
deoxyribonucleic acid to
sponges and
long-limbed teens with blue hair and
snails, and ferrets, and
grandfathers who don't remember your name - 
this life
is evolutionary chaos I sometimes don't
know how to survive.

Grace, 
ever elusive in your splendor
bathe me glorious in your revolutionary light
and draw me daringly into fierce
and furious
dancing.


Monday, September 12, 2016

Day 9: Worse Sins

Worse Sins

Because there are worse sins than a sick day, I
go to the beach to baptize myself alone.  With
only myself as witness, I
wash myself in sand and
dirty waters -
each wave a whispered promise
of absolution.