Posts for June 11, 2022 (page 7)

Category
Poem

From Further On Down The Hardwood Halls

First things: I string cottonwood popcorn as garland to hang on the
window sills. Then, I vacuum the whole place, top to bottom, the
crumbs diminishing willfully. The bed gets made, the edges
smoothed. Nightclothes to the corner, hung, for later. Pancakes in the
pan – butter crisp and fluffy. I slice extra fruit for finish – blueberries,
strawberries, thick wedges of banana. It is another day.  

Middle things: Somebody calls and we exchange notes on the
morning, stories of closeness and of all the years in the distance. It
reminds me of water and how I can’t stop drinking this cool liquid
snow. I switch the AC on for 20 minutes to bring down the heat,
control it to a simmer, a hum beneath my thoughts so they can
breathe a minute. So the warm flesh of my legs can find enough relief
to stretch and walk a bit in the neighborhood, back and forth pacing
with no destination. Just thoughts. Just thinking. Everyone’s breath a
series of clouds I escape through, to capture the sunscape that lingers
beyond our doubts. June’s music brings a certain cheer to promise, an
off-yellow portent for the periwinkle things to come.  

Night things: Softly, I listen. The steady beat of the late night hour
stumbles outside my door. I take all the care I can not to shake it
further. I breathe gently, the shallow heat of midnight warms my lips
and keeps my lungs in focus. My heart an endless flutter of wanting,
quickened yet steady, hard but forever. After a minute, I listen to it
ease on by, using the creak of the hinges to push off against the
darkness. It slices against the chair rail and the baseboards,
deepening its groove further on down the hardwood hall. The groan
of the rafters rocks me back to sleep, reminding me our wanting
comes from a deeper place – like a snow day in June or how we were
built by architects. Those experts of arch work who know the truth is
in the curves we crave to hold us together.


Category
Poem

Date Night

Amidst the popcorn, greasy fingers
and spinning superheros,
I put my hand on my son’s arm
and he smiled.


Category
Poem

Missing the Ocean

         Wander
       a             love of
                                         blue
                          stitched
             with            light  

The horizon                 a door that
                         knows
    entire                         decades

                          Swim
                             steady as a
                      wheel—
                                    skin
wondrous                                           

~ Erasure of Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s World of Wonders, “Octopus.” p. 105  


Category
Poem

When it’s dark enough

you can see stars
stars like a million eyes
eyes of predators glowing
glowing with the light
light outside
outside what you can see


Category
Poem

To The Wild Things

Inspired by Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things

Despair for the world
   also wakes me.
I fear for my family,
   my city, my world.
I cry for the wood drake,
   the water, the heron.
I mourn for the voices of peace.

And then I remember the poet
  Who calls me

To see peace in the wild things
To rest in their grace
To still for a time

        and be free.


Category
Poem

Truce

You don’t like me.
And that’s delightfully alright,
Trust, it won’t keep me up at night

The need to be adored
Is an insidious trap
And was once my greatest handicap.

I wore your opinion
Like a trench coat,
Lined with stones
It seeped through my skin,
Tore my tissue,
Broke my bones.

You detest me.
And that’s gloriously okay,
Trust, it will not ruin my day

Your judgement
Once lived
In my head rent free,
Now the only
Opinion that matters
Is mine about me.

You abhor me.
And that’s abundantly acceptable,
Trust, my life is still delectable.

Your perhaps-valid view
Doesn’t carry the weight
To determine my fate,
I’ve claimed bounteous bliss
Despite all my flaws and
In spite of your ebullient hate.


Category
Poem

Padding

Four months have passed and the weights I’ve picked up are not the ones next to my gym bag.

It bothers me.

I’m out of a routine that no longer works
And the dust won’t settle so I can find the new path.
Do I need to find a new flame to fan to clear  the air?
A purpose, a person, to prompt me to get to work and sweat it out to feel better about myself?

I give myself grace (funny how “grace” sounds like excuses): I’m in a new home, new surroundings, I have to find what’s convenient, oh look- wine…

Deep down I know the real answer. I have to get out of my own way. When I’m ready
I’ll unpack the extra cushion that’s been protecting the most vulnerable parts of me.


Category
Poem

Note to Self II

your Abuser can also be
your greatest source of comfort;
you can cherish the person actively destroying
your soul 


Category
Poem

Safe Keep

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    redbrownsilkysoftnewlifeflattenshugsearthyloam                                                                                                     white spots dull in dusk light  

bobcat overstepping walk
nears                                                                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                   earth-fawn shallow-breathes  
bobcat claws catch
branch bark
sniffs                                                                                                                                                                             
                                                                           fawn heartbeat drops                        breathing slows

 bobcat pads limb length
drops & disappears
in spartina grass                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
                                                                                                                   moist nose cooled                                                                                                                                 by prevailing wind notes                                                                                                                                  danger departing      

ears erect gather quietness                                                                       

                                                              swivel like radar dishes               
                                                                                                         
                                                                                                                         catches great-horned owl                   
stuttering hoo—h’Hoo-hoo-hoo                                                                  
                                                                        one high in pitch                                                                                                                                                                                                         the other low                                                                                                                                     
                                                                        liquid brown fawn eyes                                                                                                                               big bright tapestry                                                                                                                                       passes light twice                                                                                                                                     lashes droop downward                                                                                                                            with slight curve upward                                                                             
                                                                                  nose up calls                                                                                                                       MeeeeeW           MeeeeeW           MeeeeeW        

fierce hoof-thunder breaks darkness                                     vibrates ground under white belly  
             muscular red-brown                       full-bodied doe                 stamps & snorts: Shiii

                                                             draws-in fawn scent & soft bleats                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           bé                                                                                                                                                                    bé    

fawn wobbly leg-rises                                           finds teat                                pulls & mews                  
                          high-pitched notes            like an old screen door            opening & whispering                                                                                                                             
                                                                            shut on a summer eve  

bobcat waits


Category
Poem

His Minister of Interior is Desperation

The center of gravity
floats freely in the body enlarged with mourning

should it lean toward you
to confide a few sentences mulled over for days
there is a danger you’d be smashed

the face – an ancient Greek mask
the mouth – the mathematical sign of infinity

Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova