the change

30 Apr

I hold her, this self
I knew, too loosely. She slips,
one crack down her side.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

did you know

30 Apr

Introverts on break
pull energy from walls, re-
charging all the things.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

This Public Door

29 Apr

This public door,
This wooden cutout
hanging on this public door,
This wooden cutout
of a human silhouette
hanging on this public door,
This wooden cutout
of a human silhouette
in half a dress, half a pant leg
hanging on this public door
says I don’t care what you wear
to pee anymore.
Come on in. You
are welcome here.
You are. You are
welcome here.
We defy
the need to know
how you identify.
You are. You
are welcome here.
I love this public door.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

IRL

28 Apr

Can we relate?
.
If we met each other
in the here-and-now,
in real time, in the context
of our everyday earthly lives,
would we be friends?
.
How to decide?
Do you know?
.
Do we have the same
values
interests
struggles
beliefs?
Does it matter?
Does that make us
more or less
likely
to be friends?
.
Why are you online?
Why am I?
Is it to
think
reflect
cry
laugh
listen
rest
comprehend?
.
Respond?
.
I behave sometimes
as if my words
online
are weighted,
as if the internet gods
will one day post
a word cloud
of annual shares
and measure me
on some political scale.
Whose side am I on?
Who do I play for?
Where do I stand?
.
It isn’t true. I don’t think
it’s true, but if they ask:
I stand for equity,
justice, love and peace and if
I’m pressed to choose
just one
.
I choose
the one
designed to
hold them
all –

Love.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

nothing so delicious

27 Apr

I inhale. There is nothing
so delicious as a new book.
Dusty or pristine, borrowed or bought,
its weight, its cover, the layer by layer
discovery of what’s inside,
the definitive turn of a page
– or a phrase – I inhale.
Sharply. Slowly. Laughingly. Silently. Loudly.
Eagerly: There is nothing so delicious as a book.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

we used to know

26 Apr

We used to know without pause
which blouse, which skirt, which shoes,
which size was right –
what time work ended – how to connect
when one of us failed
to answer the phone.
If one of our kids
was melting down,
if it was too late,
we’d wait with each other
in public until it passed.
We used to know
each other’s allergies.
We used to understand
the village
wasn’t only for our kids.

We used to decorate ourselves
and our spaces, too,
with feathers and disco balls,
slippers and smoking jackets,
on fire with possibility,
forging bonds in that fire,
naturally
unbreakable bonds.

We cleaned each other’s houses.
We brought each other soup
and tissue and wine.
We watched each other’s kids on snow days,
holidays, sick days and in between.
But we never sealed the pact. There were gaps,
days we missed, moments we drifted off.
In the center of our lives
was this open-air home we’d built together
and I (because I can no longer speak for all of us
and probably never could) – I thought it would stand for

passion,
possibility,
perseverance,
strength,
creativity,
justice
all over the world
forever
and maybe,
just maybe
that was it.

Maybe that
was the cause
of its demise,
all those different signs
on one door.
I don’t know.
Maybe the mortar never set.
The walls didn’t match up.
Those signs
were too heavy.
It was never a home.
Too big,
too small, too restrictive.
It had too many rooms.
I don’t think
any one of us
can point to why in that singular moment,
the sledgehammer dislodged possibility
and we all came crashing into the here, the now.
I still don’t know
what caused the rubble –
I didn’t see –
a series of moments maybe,
a shift in our foundation.

A cluster of infinitesimal seismic shifts.
Dynamite. A lack of faith. Silence.
Divided loyalties.
It was preventable.
It was inevitable.
It was what it was.
Now it is what it is.

But as the sun
peeks through the trees,
I’ve noticed
each of us,
mourning,
wanders back to the site
and stands awhile.
We assess damage. We gather
what we treasure most,
each stone,
each mirrored shard
reflecting who we were,
who we wanted to become,
reminding
us

as we linger
by the hammer, still in the center
of what used to be the floor,
that if we decide
more intentionally this time
to build a village square,
it only takes one of us
to begin.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

Practicing Poetry

25 Apr

Not searching for words,
but clearing the channel thru
which words pass.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

Having a ball.

24 Apr

Tennis ball set down
between us, sun not yet up:
Morning dog talk. Home.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

A Wedding Wish

23 Apr

for A & C

I do not wish
for your love to be potted
in rich soil now,
watched,
watered,
pruned
or
tended
in any traditional way.

No, your love
sprouted up between
cacti and wildflowers,
hearty, expansive and strong
in
its
own
right.

My wish for you
is for
space-sun-rain-time
to grow your love
ever more

luminous,
wild on the vine.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

Dots

22 Apr

Starting with one bright red dot,
my finger swypes a square spiral –
What would you call that?
A squaral? – to meet
the only other bright red dot
on the screen. Soon,
there are paths of red and
blue dots, yellow and green
dots making mazes, called Pipes.
Pipes. This is how I pass the time
when what I want to understand
is people.

* * * * *
National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

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