Tag: ordinary

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Poem for April 1

Photo by Elizabeth HowardLying flat on the grass,
Crushing the blades
I am a bookmark between
The earth and all that is above.

“You are not looking UP,”
I once read. “Imagine you can
Step out into the stars. All the
Universe is in front of you.”

All the universe — the sun which is a
Star; and greater suns indeed, also stars,
And the moons which are just rocks like
Gravel scattered between the flagstones.

The landscapers moved the daffodils.
“Give them some water. They’ll perk back up.”
Just so with this grass beneath me.
Those ants I laid poison for in the living room: not so lucky.

Sometime this week, the men will come to tear out the yuccas.
The women will carve out the daisies.
A redbud tree waits at the nursery to be adopted;
Legions of utility workers attend my yard with blue and yellow spray.

I lay on the grass
My sprained ankle rests akimbo.
I gaze up and plan a shutter painting party as clouds drift by.
In the nearest slice of sun

The dog drops her head and sighs.

A Single Pansy at Haddam Neck FairAt the bottom of the dresser drawer
Under a twist of bras and
Fine-enough-to-donate
Ankle socks, I found the
Liner she used to protect the wood —
Or was it to protect the clothes? —
I’m not sure. Shouldn’t adults
Really know this now?
But I don’t line my drawers with
Newspaper. I don’t even receive
One anymore. How else have I
Let her down, dropped the ball on
All the better, best and bygone Ways?

Well, no more heat-and-eat Salisbury steak ovals
Floating in gravy are served, so
I’ve achieved that. That and
Lifting her onto the portable toilet when
Her legs became deadweight. And I achieved
Ordering the hospital bed, making
Small talk with the lanky boy-man who
Constructed it in the living room one day,
Then came back a few days later to
Pack it away. The damn chia seeds. Still
Behind the instant oats in Dad’s cupboard!
Why didn’t I toss them out with the
Pile of not-fine-enough-to donate t-shirts?

Ann and I had that flash of certainty,
Sure the old news in the drawer would be
Ancient, with ads for powdered penny soap and
Photos of mustachioed men. Where were you in
1999? She must have been standing right here
At the drawer on Timberline,
Laying out the paper, washing her hands before
Touching the whites, thinking her thoughts
About what’s for dinner and
Is there an afterlife and where exactly is
The Friday card group.

I was far away.
It was the El Nino year, the year
I bought my shirtwaist house, and forgot to water
The coreopsis, and for the last time
Gas was 99 cents a gallon. Then,
fear shaped itself as loneliness,
Not as a leaking bag body that takes 30 days to
Empty, that sloughs off eating,
Then walking, then speech,
And all muscle control
Like peeling skin on a
Sunburned life.


one last glow-in-the-dark cling film
bat, still holding onto the
glass pane. Halloweens gone by neither
here nor there.

I’m writing “small stones” as past of Mindful Writing Challenge 2014.  If you care to participate, here’s the link. Feel free to read and enjoy more wonderful mindful posts from across the world on Twitter at #smallstone.

unvarnished and plain,
jagged edges at the end of my body.
Toenails
Unabashed sign
Of Winter.

I’m writing “small stones” as past of Mindful Writing Challenge 2014.  If you care to participate, here’s the link. Feel free to read and enjoy more wonderful mindful posts from across the world on Twitter at #smallstone.


helleborus in a washed-out chinese-food tin;
her spiked hearts and freckled petals
turning towards the pane.
Yesterday
I marveled at your shades of pale viridescence.
Today
I wonder ‘how long before the blooms fall?’

I’m writing “small stones” as past of Mindful Writing Challenge 2014.  If you care to participate, here’s the link. Feel free to read and enjoy more wonderful mindful posts from across the world on Twitter at #smallstone.

Sky

I keep hearing them say:
No Drama
No Drama
Yet, all our lives and all the world around is a series of dramas playing out.
Of characters passing across the thrust
Of hearts being broken and lives being twisted
Into unexpected shapes tumbling towards resolution.

What kind of no drama do they mean?
No drama, you cancer-girl.
No drama, you single mother.
No drama, you exhausted supermom
No drama, never-alone, it never-lets up homeschooler.
Stalwartness shall be your burden.

Go get lost in the garden, between the dried out chrysanthemums
And water the plants alone with your
Tears. No one wants to hear you, you
Aberration. You who dares speak
Louder than the crisped interstate hum,
You who feels its OK to say out loud
She disagrees. You who
Cries foul. Leave us.

We are busy cementing our
Feet in molasses pride. You girl
Dripping with your fat emotions,
Making puddles of
Noise and need and complications

Wherever you go–
“Get out of the way, drama queen” said them,
Which is
No person anyone has
Ever met, and
No human being at all.

(I kept hearing people saying “I don’t want any drama.” And “I’m glad when I can get the people with drama out of my life.”

I thought about this today, thinking about mental illness, women, and friendship and acceptance.

This poem came up)