The Poetry Marathon

I stand in the kitchen
and cry each day
before heading into work

Beat down by systems and
administrators and politics
the things no one tells you about

when they ask
“What do you want to be
when you grow up?”

When my future self looks back
after the heart attack
the evidence will be clear

every tear another shred of stress
gripping tighter and tighter
an unending cycle of torment

my breathing slows to shudders
as I hold my travel mug and work bag
“Okay,” I exhale. “I’m ready.”

[Prompt 2: Write a poem from the point of view of yourself, ten years ago.]

after Diana Khoi Nguyen

Most summer days
this is how she found us
sunburnt skin
hair wind dried snarls

all day we’d run from shore
bobbing between whitecaps
diving to crawl along
ridges of sand and rock

when our bellies roared
louder than the waves
we’d retreat home
stuffed full with laughter

free from any past
not yet even our future

[Prompt 1: “This is how she found us/ the past draped about us like a cloak” after Diana Khoi Nguyen]

Once I said:

I have become
ridiculously crowd adverse
since the pandemic

She said: It is weird out there.

Later

She said: Misogyny, apathy, and fear
about sexuality in general
runs very, very, very deep.

All the more reason
I’ve been finding myself
retreating from the world

Or perhaps just
finding different ways
to engage with lower expectations

[Prompt 12: Write about gathering with others. The specifics are up to you.]

We cover our mouths
gasping for air
snorffling through our fingers

Whatever it was
one of us said
that was so funny
doesn’t matter now

L contorted so hard she farted
A spewed the Sprite she has sipped out through her nose
I heaved so hard to breathe my vision went splotchy

I don’t remember how we composed ourselves
to finish our dinners
pay the check
each head our separate ways
carrying some gem to rediscover
for decades to come

[Prompt 11: Write a poem about laughter without ever using the words, laugh, laughter, or giggle.]

We call her Mama Squirrel
because all these little babies
we know came from her

Every night we sit out
wait for her to show
mangy patches and swollen eye

“Hey Mama” we call
and throw her a handful
of raw peanuts

Some she eats
some she stuffs
and runs

Not to bury them
but instead to offer
to her neighbortree friends

Mama’s Peanut Kitchen
has been running
for three or so years now

Feeding scraggly squirrels
Bluejays and an occasional raccoon
Mama don’t discriminate

And when the summer comes to a close
and Mama checks her larder
she’s none the worse

for having shown a little compassion

We used to sing this food song when we were kids:

Fried ham, fried ham, cheese, and bologna,
and after the macaroni, we’ll have
onion, pickles, and peppers,
and then we’ll have some more fried ham!
Fried ham! Fried ham! Fried ham!

The relish tray is a staple
at our family gatherings and holiday dinners.

It had to have pickles – because we’re Polish –
and pickled beets and pickled onions and green olives.

The relish dish was always clear glass
with some star-shaped pattern cut into the bottom.

Those dishes are ubiquitous at garage sales
and wish I could take every one of them home

Fill them with salty savory delights
to tempt and tease the appetite

Then hear the room fill once again
with a chorus of laughter and love

[Prompt 9: “Look in your cupboards and find a food that brings up a childhood memory, and the memory is your prompt” – contributed by Deborah Dalton]

What’s your major?
English?! What the heck can you do with that? Teach?!

I never really understood this obsession
with having to choose some approved “profession”
and as professions go, what was wrong with teaching?

I’m going to be a teacher.
College. English. But more than that.

Like so much in life, I was drawn
to the most abused and suffering.

For thirty years, I asked my developmental learners
What’s your major?

I’m going to be a teacher
some would respond
and I would offer a wisened nod.

But what’s your backup plan
Just in case?

[Prompt 7: Gigan]

He stands on the porch
surveying the landscape

Years of churning soil
planting watering fertilizing

They say women turn to gardening
in the years after childbearing

But in this household
the role reversed

My husband the laborer
giving birth, nurturing, coddling

Until now each plant can stand
on its own, propagate families

The universe did not provide
grandchildren in our lives

Instead, we sit out each night
look out over the blooming expanse

Take compliments from strangers
passing by enjoying the beauty

My husband guffaws as I beam
“It’s all his doing.”

The proud PawPaw
His family fills the yard

[Prompt 7: Look on your phone and find the 10th non-selfie picture and use that as your prompt.]

Remember riding in my Chevy Nova
through downtown Traverse City
how we blasted the Talking Heads
all the way down Front Street?

How was it that we had
so much time in our lives
to just sit around talking
and drinking Labatts and smoking Camels?

My kids are grown now
about that age we were
when we became thick and thieves
and probably did illegal stuff.

But we never got caught
and I hope they never do either
but if they do, meh – I’ll
chalk it up to chance.

We had it good for a while
didn’t we?
We had our whole lives
ahead of us.

Now here we are.
Age found us both.
I’m a mom, maybe a grandma soon
and you – how are you?

[Prompt 6: Write a letter to yourself from the perspective of someone who is no longer in your life.]

“But did you notice the flowers?”
asked the man who stopped
to help me fix the flat on my bike
after I had complained how
my ride had been ruined.

I hadn’t.

I had biked nearly fifty miles
churning hips pounding the pedals
eyes steady ahead, thinking only
of the next fifty I wanted
to cover that day.

Ever since, I have noticed
every bike ride I look around
see the wildflowers in the ditches
the planted flowers in the yards
miles behind me and miles ahead.

Even now, when I look into an image
a weatherworn window frame
tucked into its concrete wall and brick
spindling leafless fingers of ivy gripping tight
giving all the auspices of death –

But did you notice the blue sky?

[Prompt 5: Picture]