never have I ever
lived forever
'neath the oak tree
spanning yard and sky
trunk unhuggable
sap unlickable
never have I ever
found its crook
that matches mine
its ribs and ebbs and flows
a wizened paradigm
of timeless character moguls
perseverance
determination
wisdom, pride, honor
boding well on her body
in her veins
toes to crown
never have I ever
smothered shaded memories in regret.
for what grass felt
and leaves saw
soaked into grooves
both mind and made.
I pretend that I'm the wizard.
that I know what you do
and you don't.
I resemble Dorothy.
Headstrong and looking for answers--
melting witches, that sort of thing.
I squeak like the tin man.
Metallic facial expressions,
rusty joints.
I bumble like the scarecrow.
Uncertain and dependent
harvesting substance and smarts.
I am the cowardly lion.
I lack the gumption to be sure of what I know
and the strength to stop fearing what I don't.
I am the paranoid zebra,
the fearful giraffe.
Still, I follow a golden road.
Still, I expect redemption
for my yellow bellied, zip-tied heart.
...
Note: I don't label all line-by-line posts "poetry" because some of it, in my opinion, isn't. ...Just in case you were thinking the same thing.
I wrote this on February 21, 2008.
I sat in a trashcan lid,
skid through a snowless field.
The rain poured all around me
and the slush slowed me down.
My face bled into the branches.
The pine oil stung
the needles stung
and the thorns stung
and the ice stung.
And I didn't see the rock--
I didn't see the rock until
I was bleeding into the lake,
bleeding into myself.
The lid splintered and the lake--
the lake had some nerve
freezing my nerves that way.
My heart and thoughts? Stopped.
1 golfer picking a wedgie
2 elderly front lawn putt putters
3 limping squirrels -- many thanks to Jack
4 tinted windows slowing to a stop
5 obnoxious "nom"s -- many thanks to Skye
6 leaf mutant clovers
7 ways to stumble up a hill
8 smoked smokes
9 clouds in a blue sky
10 tiny dogs walked by towering men
not quite ten. two, though. two too many.
After butchering a trombone etude,
I sat on a cold and rusty bench.
The air chilled my apathetic nerves,
revitalized my wavering faith in curriculum's merit.
well. not completely.
Few birds chirped
even fewer people spoke
the breeze below a whisper,
a whistle in my ear.
I listened for the occasional clip of our flag's hook against the pole
and smiled.
For there I sat,
breathing deeply,
realizing that I accommodate both textbooks and ambition,
stress and common sense,
fear and certainty.
As loneliness turned to contentment,
a teacher walked past.
I discovered that not even full grown women are exempt
from pretending to text
in order to avoid eye contact.
Not that I'd expect them to be.
Teenagers are difficult to connect with.
My eyes were ready.
There are those moments. Those super cliche I-feel-so-alive moments? I have those sometimes.
I don't like being alone when I have them.
Most recently I was home alone
in my bikini
opening all the doors
playing The Mamas & The Papas Anthology
on my first turntable
patching it through to backyard speakers
dancing like I do
and falling asleep in the sun.
And I had no one to share it with. Until now, I suppose.
But you should have been there. We could have been ourselves
in our suits
in my yard
in the sun
in the spring
in my wildest dreams.
