Posts for June 25, 2023 (page 6)

Apprehension 
I haven’t met a new
person in seven years. 
Imposter syndrome, 
I feel separate from 
myself, not visible 
and I think maybe I
am safest by keeping 
to the familiar. Do I 
know what I think I 
know or have I just
convinced myself that
I can be interesting and 
attractive?
No one has suggested 
either of those are true 
except my daughters. 
I should probably believe 
them, after all,  I have 
always told them this truth 
and I want them to 
believe me. 
So, I will move forward 
slowly and honestly 
knowing I can retreat 
to the acceptance of 
my children, my home. 

KW. 6/25/23

    Insomnia
has addled what little audacity I have left
Repetition erodes the tendency to deviate,
    and one must have structure if not sleep
It goes one, two, three; one. two. three.
one..two..three..then begun, you, see
    The mind is like a web; it works in associations
However, in stages of sleep, the web begins to wind
down, and you can’t simply pull the strings together
    lest it snaps, and sings a stranger song:
run….through…sea…none…grew…free…
spun…new…me…done…blue…glee…
    Let it whelm you, pool at your ankles
Let this slumbering sea hold you afloat as an island, child
Buoyant be your breath as you are left on the burner—
    stretched between the sea and sky—
a web with one, strained string. Body, gauntlet
of gossamer and circadian insanity, lay me to rest.
    Bury me an idol, an idiot, an insomniac…

Replaying the day    
in the creek
with the guy who told her
that country boys have sex
on horseback and yes,
in creeks
refreshing on a hot afternoon
when he taught her how
to use a chain-saw
both of them sweaty
and buggy, bandanas
across their brows
cutting down a truckload
of cedar saplings.
The day pulsed
with adventure
and stamina.   

That was after her husband                            
                           had walked out.
By day’s end she knew:      
                       I am going to do just fine.  

The world is burning
and no one stops
to ask if we’d like
a drink.

We will die and
feed the earth.
I hope it takes pity
on our children
for the offering.

I hope our bones
and the soil our
flesh fed
will remember
that some of
us tried
to extinguish what
we did 
not ignite. 

My tongue, fossil in my mouth

Happy to know I can see you this way

You with humbly allure I adulate

Laughs with the twinkle you always display

Appointing me peace, my favorite trait

We meet at the table to often dine

The lighting never shows your aura dimmed

Snugly you remind it will all be fine

Drinking from a glass of milk that’s been skimmed

Within this soft slumber you never fade

Unceasing and same in spite of my change

Death divulging how my thoughts are arrayed

You know me ongoing sans an exchange

Do you visit others and bring esprit,

or is that you locked in my memory?

The stars were aligned
that night killing me softly
with your magnetic charm.

Breathe in

                Breathe out

Breathe in

                Breathe Did I turn off the dryer Where is my phone This chair is hard

Breathe in

                Breathe out

Breathe I’m sure I turned off the dryer Why can’t I sit still I need to rest  Stop thinking stop it stop it

                Breathe out

Breathe in

                    Breathe Breathedammit Concentrate Stop thinking be here now What is wrong with you I can’t take this any more How long has it been Don’t look at your watch Don’t look Don’t Oh god it’s only been three minutes Seventeen more minutes Stop looking stop thinking stop it

Breathe in

            Breathe out

Places to hang wedding veils,

dress coats, barbecue tools, mixed drink

glasses. Even an orangery.