Category: poetry

Thank You

November 18th, 2022

Photo by Jana Shnipelson

Thank you

For explaining my own feelings to me

And growing angry when I press you

And pushing me away.

I understand now

That there isn’t a safe space at this table

Where I can be valued

Without needing to shrink.

Thank you

For pointing me onward

When I was searching for an exit

Of a mold that couldn’t hold me

And was suffocating my spirit.

I understand now

That when I stretch my wings

I deserve to fly

Without hitting a ceiling.

Thank you

For using harsh words with me

For showing the color of your passion

And the sound of your ire.

I understand now

That we will not see each other

When one of us sits higher

Without regard for difference.
Refined

November 11th, 2022

Photo by Maxim Tajer

I want to stay in the shower

With the water as hot as I can stand

Letting the liquid fire scald me until

All the hurt washes down the drain.

I want to stay in my bed

With the covers pulled up to my chin

Letting the warmth comfort me until

All the weariness has disappeared.

I want to sit in the sunshine

With my mind empty of everything

Letting the golden light bake me until

All the loneliness has burned away.

I want to pass through this fire

With my spirit determined and proud

Letting the flames consume me until

All my gold has been refined.
Napping in the Sunshine

November 4th, 2022

Photo by José Ignacio Pompé

Emptied of worry

Napping in the sunshine, I

Drift and dream in peace.

Sinking into calm,

Napping in the sunshine, yes,

It is glorious.

Breeze across my brow

Napping in the sunshine, ah!

The bliss of nature.

Warmth filling me up,

Napping in the sunshine, I

Find my truest rest.

Emptied of my cares

Napping in the sunshine, yes,

A perfect afternoon.
Growth

October 28th, 2022

Photo by Rowan Smith

When my wishing grew desperate

And my spirit was aching

To move forward in spite of

The burrs that stuck to my heart

You looked me in the eyes

Saw how fragile I had grown

Hiding behind a wall I thought was stone

But really was as clear as glass.

You asked me with compassion

And urgency

If I could ever thrive

By returning to a poisoned well.

And in my desperate wishing

To catch all the thin affirmations

From others in my slippery hands-

But never grasping tightly enough

To keep them from scattering in the wind

Instead of transforming the dark places within me-

Your hard truth felt firm and solid

And turned me from the edge of the pit

Giving me the strength to name

The fears that would not abate

And confront the pain I did not want feel.

You pruned away that dead branch

And though it hurt to be cut

It was a relief to begin growing

In the right direction.
I Have Reached An Age

October 21st, 2022

Photo by Spring Fed Images

I have reached an age

Where it is not uncommon

For my friend to lose their parent.

Sometimes we sit together for a long time

Before the cancer finally consumes

And sometimes death suddenly descends,

Disrupting, upheaving, chaotic.

I bake bread and leave meals on porches,

Knowing that the phone call I made to say “I love you”

Does nothing to lessen the ache.

But I do these things anyway

Because I know that I have reached an age

Where one day, it will be my parent who is dead

And I will need that meal or that phone call.
Is It Supposed To Hurt Like This?

October 14th, 2022

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP

Is it supposed to hurt like this?

You were a friend, not a lover

You were not my blood and bone

Yet, I trusted you with everything

And gave myself to you

Whenever you required it

Because that’s how much I loved you.

Is it supposed to hurt like this?

We lived in separate spaces

We moved in different circles

Yet, we overlapped in

All the ways that matter

Creating a sanctuary where I never

Felt the need to hide

Because that’s how much I trusted you.

Is it supposed to hurt like this?

You could see me to my core

And I bravely bared my scars to you

Knowing that I would always find a place

For my troubles when I sat down next to you

Because that’s how well I knew you.

Is it supposed to hurt like this?

I am desperate to return to myself

To unload the self-criticism and the regret

The inability to move past your absence

And to silence the voices that say

How wrong I was to grow so close with you.

Is it supposed to hurt like this?
While Angry

October 7th, 2022

Photo by Kaitlyn Baker

I am guilty

Of sending an email while angry

And of using harsh words

To make a point.

They’ve proven in the past

This is the only mechanism I have

To grab their attention

And turn it to where they need to look.

If they didn’t want

To be called out for their cowardice

Their apathy

Their ignorance

Their complicity

Then they shouldn’t have opened with

“We want to hear from you.”

Yes, I am guilty

Of sending an email while angry,

But I will never be guilty

Of not telling the truth.
The Circle

August 16th, 2022

When I am shattered

I will sit down in the dust

And draw a protective circle.

And as I splinter

I will watch for who comes

To stand at the line I’ve drawn.

From the center I will wait

Until I find the rocky bottom

Of the pit I’m mired in.

Then I will raise my head

And look into the eyes

Of those who came to guard me.

And through the power

Of the circle I called to me

My pieces with fit together again.
Before I Get the Kids

August 12th, 2022

Photo by Sarah Brown

Before I get the kids

I will sit in the car and cry in the driveway

Overwhelmed by the feelings that linger

I will mourn for the dreams that are dead.

I might go through a drive through

On my way to pick them up

And order a large French fry because

Those cookies I keep hidden were not enough

To silence the chattering inside me.

I will stuff fingerfuls of hot potato into my mouth as I drive,

Knowing that the salt and the fat

Will just make me feel worse

Once the joy of tasting it has faded.

And before I go in the building to get my kids

I will wipe away my tears

And try to stuff down my unhappiness

Staring in the rear view mirror

Scolding my reflection for her red eyes and dark circles

Until I’ve pulled my mask back on

So that my kids don’t think “mom is still sad.”

And when I open the car door

I will be a pretender

Doling out my love and laughter without limits

Until I put the kids in bed

And I am certain they are asleep.

Then I will return to feeling this grief.
This Desperate Sadness

August 9th, 2022

Photo by Sarah Orr Aten

I can’t escape you

When I see a car like yours

I always search the driver’s seat but

It’s never you.

Or I read a piece of fiction

Thinking of the conversation

It would generate until I remember

I won’t see you today

For reasons that are hurtful.

I sit outside

Watching the cabbage whites

Taste the nectar of the tomato flowers

And I wonder if your plants are thriving

Or if they are growing only leaves

But never fruit.

And when I open the door

Leaving it in an inviting state

For whoever is coming

I think of you standing in my kitchen

Slicing up the meals you cooked

Pulling strips of meat from the foil

And sucking juice from your fingers.

And even in my moments of reverence

You are still there

Like a wound left unattended

And all the peace I try to cultivate

Bubbles and churns while I think of you

As I try to pray, but cry instead

And wish I could release

The things that will never be.

I can’t escape you

You are a part of me now

As much a piece of my story

As my mother or my children.

I would never change that.

But I burn with hope that one day

I can see a car like yours

Or a book, or a tomato plant

And not feel this desperate sadness.