The Poetry Marathon

Soft blanket for cuddling
With a fuzzy inside.
Stuffed animals to protect from the cold wall.
A squishy pillow to rest my head.
A nice soft mattress to bring it all together.

I grew up on this mattress.
It moved up and down.
From top bunk to regular bed
And back and over again.

Now it’s stuck as a regular bed.
I took it from my parents,
And removed it from its fellows.
Never again will it stack up high.

Over the years,
My bed has changed.
New blankets, new sheets,
And new stuffed animals.
But it has always been my bed.

A dark-skinned woman,
With a hijab covering her hair,
Strides down the sidewalk.
Her clothes are dark.
She blends in with the night’s shadow.
Her destination is unknown,
And she whips her head side to side,
Checking every alley,
Every nook and cranny of the city,
But her quarry is nowhere to be found.

Strumming my veins.
Pounding my heart.
Screaming through my lungs.
Thrumming through my brain.

Moving through me like a wave.
I cannot control.
Only listen.

Our house defines us.
Whether it is clean or dirty.
Organized or messy.
Smart or brave.
Ambitious or hardworking.

But one house can have every attribute.
Maybe the kitchen is dirty,
But the bathroom is spotless,
And the office is overly organized,
While the bedroom is bedlam.

One person can have many rooms.
Many facets.
Many houses.
No single adjective can describe a house
Or a person, for that matter.

Circles in the rock mark years
Of water flowing and flowing.
Little holes next to the path
Are markers of water levels of the past.
And the canyon itself is a chronicle of this little river.

The water is actually blue here.
Real water is blue. We didn’t just make that up.
It contrasts nicely with the bright red rock
And the dark green forest.

Everything is vibrant.
Vibrancy in all colors:
Red, green, blue, brown.
Nature abounds and
Did I mention?
It smells fantastic.

Pearls are shiny and nice.
Some are round, others not so much.
Most come from Earth,
But not all.

I have heard tell of a pearl
That can swordfight.
This pearl is tall and slender.

This pearl has hot pink hair.
This pearl loves deeply
And does ballet.

This pearl has saved the world
More times than you can count.
This pearl has been defending the world,
Since before humans could count.

Eyes burn when closed.
It’s harder to focus them.
My hands are clumsy.
My mind even more so.

Names are the hardest to get.
Full sentences nearly impossible.
Everything is either funny or angry.
Music is the only salvation.

I have a keychain from every place I’ve been.
I collect them to hang on my wall,
Like pictures, they represent snippets of memory.

Forever bigger my collection grows
To hang ever heavier on my wall.
I wonder if it will collapse.

Someday when I am older
With more memories,
More keychains.

Will my wall be able to hold all of them?
Or will they come tumbling down
Like an avalanche, crushing everything in their path?

Powders upon powders
Or maybe on top of creams.
Sometimes gel, too.

End result: enhanced beauty.
Sometimes I work for it.
Other times I don’t care enough.

The end result looks quite effortless,
But the reality can be hours of work.
Often I just don’t have the time.

It’s not like it matters.

Luck is just probability.
It’s math and statistics.
Nothing more.

And yet, when I look at you,
Lucky is the only thing,
I can possibly be.