Old Lines

These are some of my favorite one liners from years past that I’ve never written poems around.  Maybe now that I’ve got a bit more time to write, I’ll be able to pull a few poems together.  : )

 

Stop craning your electronic necks, there’s nothing to see here.

Look at life through the eyes of another
and you may see things as you haven’t seen them before
but you still can never see just what they see.

Some of the things experience teaches us aren’t true.

I wanted to wash my heart, hot/cold, heavy duty cycle.
I wanted to open my mind and let all the facts fall out.
I wanted to write, but I couldn’t even breathe.

I’d love to do this another way
but my eyes cling to their color-
I simply am what I am.

Happiness can only be made with what you have.

The box is too small.
If I don’t start thinking outside of it soon . . .

I put away my knitting early tonight.
No matter how many tidy rows I stitched
my thoughts wouldn’t follow suit.

If the answer were in this coffee cup, I would have found it twice by now.

The Night you Were Born

From the first contraction, I knew that night would be different.

I gathered my things, and left myself to meet you.

They said it could take a long time, but we both ignored them and focused on the distance between life and whatever comes before it that we all forget once we’ve left.

You were in between worlds, a place I never knew existed, yet somehow found with ease.

He couldn’t come along, but steadfast and silent, watched over us every step.

As the hours passed, I became the ocean–crashing waves rolling one into the next, and you, my little moon–pulling and pushing tides–guiding me to you, so I could guide you home.

There was a crescendo–a swelling of sound, a bending of space and time . . .

And then you were born–hot, purple, crying.

And a new part of me was born, too–fierce, tender, an unhealing wound.

We just held each other for the longest time because it was frightening and it hurt but we had made it together.

The rest of the day I wasn’t hungry, I couldn’t care about the aches or feel the exhaustion–I could only stare in awe of you.

And that, my little love, was how it went on the night you were born.  The very first of many wonderful, strange, and wild adventures to come.
a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roommates: Miss Baby

No doubt about it, things were getting tight. She stretched her arms and legs as far as she could, just to check again, and sure enough, the soft, seemingly flexible walls of her living space were decidedly less flexible than they had been the week before.  It was happening so slowly, she almost hadn’t noticed, but lately, it had become clear–this room, which had started out quite comfortable, was shrinking.

It was a desperate situation really.  She wasn’t exactly sure how she’d gotten here and therefore, wasn’t exactly sure how to go about going somewhere else . . . There were others nearby, but none she felt comfortable asking.  For some reason, they didn’t seem to like her.  They were always scooting out of her way, mumbling and grumbling.  She apologized often, but that didn’t seem to help anymore.  Another hint the room was shrinking, she couldn’t move a hand or foot these days without bumping into Bladder or Diaphram or some other random, grumpy neighbor.

Something soft brushed her toe, interrupting her thoughts, and she kicked out, “HIYA!” Then everything constricted suddenly, as it sometimes did.  She pressed out against the walls, hoping to get away from whatever it was, but there was nowhere to go . . . finally, she looked and realized it was just Bladder again.  “Oops, sorry!” She said, but only received a pained groan in response.  Sigh.  Typical.

One way or another, she was going to HAVE to find a way out of here . . .

Roommates

 

 

She was Born

She was born in the usual way–between a man and a woman.  There was blood, pain, and screaming. It was, as it always is, a brutal cleaving of soul from soul, flesh from flesh. Her father was a crime, her mother a child, and there was no one to catch her when, after years of slow, uncomfortable gestation, she finally fell into damp leaves on a darkened forest floor.

Her mother lays there still, not one minute past the memory.

She didn’t realize her birth was a death. She never grieved; how do you miss someone you never knew? But She felt the weight of grief all around her from the moment she was born in such a way that it was like gravity or some other universally accepted law of physics– binding her to earth, limiting her ability to move, and at the time, intensifying her need to dream.

 

Sunday Thoughts

When did my voice become too quiet to hear over the t.v.?  I’m hiding  amidst piles of dirty laundry in the living room, crouched over my laptop behind closed doors trying so hard to hear it, faintest of whispers, my voice, come back, I’m listening now.

Our marriage is where I can sleep
After setting my burdens down
After closing the door on the world
Unfailingly safe, comfortable, warm, loved . . .
I can rest my head and my heart
in us
until I’m ready to rise and face it all again.

Multi-tasking with a speed that felt like so much more, but was actually so much less . . . Worse than nothing when all was said and done.
I want my focus back, my concentration-to indulge my interest in one thing until it becomes familiar, known, maybe even loved.
To carefully, deliberately subscribe to something, to someone with discipline and care.

I wanted to dissolve into the sky
out of my senses, out of my skin
untethered, unfettered, forgotten to everything.
I get that way sometimes.

Where do I belong? I asked myself, silently in the car between what I knew then and what I know now. It is stunning how some answers come so quickly while others elude for eternity.

Curling over, again and again,
I can’t tell if the water seeks the shore or
if she’s simply a captive of the moon.

I’m still learning to end the poem in time
to prevent too much understanding, which
always seems to lead to misunderstanding.

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