The Poetry Marathon

A Circle: The End is the Beginning (Acrostic)

Callous casualties of opportunistic demagoguery give way to fervent ceasefires.

Imaginations illuminate the shift that is pending. The end points to a new beginning.

Reconciliation of the fallacy of opposites finally proves the hypothesis.

Circle reunited in balance restores the Empress and chalice.

Lessons learned will be held dear for eons without masters or peons.

Expansion in mass maturation elevates the whole of creation.

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”

She knows you

dear, heart

she’s felt your pulse

through the soles of your feet

from your first step

and caught you when you lost balance

Even when you forget

that there is love to be had

even when you forget

where your home is

even when you forget

who you really are

and what you’re here to do

When the whole of creation

has sent you spinning

and groundless

when you clawed at the floor

To remember

She’s got you

righting you

by the dense moss to the north

by the thick leaves to the south

showing that you are connected

to all things

by a cord that

cannot be cut

And in the end

like a tender mother

she will embrace your fragile bones

and sing you to sleep

At the base

sits a lion

on each side

in turn, they roar

to the monks and pilgrims

the keys for their journey:

        Love

        Compassion

        Joy

        Equanimity

step by step

on the earth

with heads held like

long-stemmed lotuses

colorful prayers on the wind

to become

in all parts

while climbing higher

to the Buddha’s holy mind

A. Factual Background

Crystal T. Davis

a 24 year-old woman on a search

back

in subsequent events

Victim of factual justification stolen:

• proceeds of the sale
• deposited photos
• a suspect officer

Discovered

Her belief

Sought the master keys

To read

question

In a handwritten statement

[She was]

Given the key to open

The entire lock

And she was released

Dear, Crystal, circa September 2007–

This is your 33 year old self. [I know you don’t like math, the year is 2019.] I remember you. And wanted to drop down a rope ladder for you to climb out of your early 20s.

I was thinking about you and everything that’s happening. About now your home has been surrounded by a half circle of law enforcement from across the state. You can see the jagged flashes of red and blue light smacking against the basement windows. I know you’re scared. Please know that none of this is about you.

You won’t get this for a few more years, but darling, you are a queen. Read quickly, now! The man with the lightning blue eyes will ask you if you “want to be another ‘inner city youth’ gone wrong.” He is an angler – do not fall for the bait. Throw your pack of smokes on the bed if you don’t want your family to see them. Yes, that is America’s Most Wanted in the front yard. Write nothing on paper, they will use it to fuck you. None of this is about you. Hold your happiest of thoughts close to your chest. Sing your songs. We make it out of this one.

You don’t have long. I know you are reading this in the dark, rocking back and forth. Be gentle with yourself and to the people trying to love you through all that will happen. Know that everything you are about to experience will teach you more about the ways others will dismiss you on sight or pretend to see you. You will learn that kindness is most important to share when things get rough. And that the ability to trust others will return when you learn to trust yourself again.

Somewhere deep, you already know who you are. Let that guide you. We have turned into a compassionate, intelligent, and magical Black woman. That is because of you!

And, my dear, we are doing fabulously.

<3

-Crystal, Age 33

P.S. – You can always crash on my couch and pet my kitty.

While everyone was sleeping

We sat by the June bonfire

Scaring off the darkness

And watched it play out

a scene of elephants marching

And a queen perched high

Wooing her loyal subjects

In the campground

So manicured we couldn’t even find

A stick for kindling

the fire died down

We crept away

Through a tunnel of fog and fir

Leaning into the night

The birds on the lake hushed as we passed

On the way to the dock

Where we sat kicking our feet in

Midnight water

Where you asked me what the lake said

You stopped walking

To pull down a moonbeam

To light my face

Damn.

That’s preposterous

Everyone knows that there are only four

I can name them for you

Winter

Spring

Summer

and Fall

That is all

It’s real

What would the weather be like, then?

The weather does not matter

It is like all of those you’ve named

and none of them

at once

a season out of time

It is the connective tissue

the intricate knitting that holds the

whole thing together

the spoke and the wheel

How can you know?

Because of the sudden teeming on my skin

the alertness of the hairs at the back of my neck

Because my totality cannot be hewn

down into only four parts

I know it is true because of the contradictions

I am able to contain

She her hair was always a mess

As told by her only pet crow

When she was startled by a boom

By her laid a locked chest

Inside it her secrets she’d stow

And return behind her loom

…But she had long been laid to rest

In our days we will live

like our ghosts will live

Then let us get to work

not in the service of

squealing like iron and steel on train tracks

trundling bodies like product

from one place to another

like cheap plastics

replaceable

not in the service of

getting ahead by making sure

that someone else is behind

struggling harder

not in the service of

“At least that’s not me”

But in the honor of

the free, living body

life unencumbered

aware and inspired

I want my ghost to live healthy

I want my ghost to live in sunsets

I want my ghost to be a reminder

that there is someone who cares

I want my Black ghost to help the kid

alive in the projects

with their english homework

In our days we will say

what our ghosts will say

Let pearls of wisdom

fall from my living mouth

as they will form on the lips

Of my ectoplasm

To ask you:

What is it that you are wanting in this

clamorous and magnificent existence?

Can you see your divinity

reflected in the eyes of a newborn?

Can you be a Rose of Jericho

and welcome the rain?

A long time ago

I broke my foot

chugging whiskey

after being horribly unfunny

professionally

it didn’t look good on me

so I tried on another pair of shoes

And fell backward over a curb

I used to have trouble staying still

not walking

and lying in bed with my repercussions

clanging away like cymbals in my ears

if I could not walk away from them

I would hop or crawl

toward a new distraction

Outside on the balcony

the winter wind blustered

smoke swept up

like sweet treats in greedy hands

my concerned partner

finding no broken fiance in bed

rushed outside to find me

propped up

in a robe

on my unbroken foot

in the cold

He ushered me inside

and

by some meticulous design

a gust curled through the hall

slamming a door shut

between the balcony and the hall

suddenly

we were trapped

for an indeterminate time

in the space used as our housemate’s closet

Immediately

the wind died

to allow us a moment of silence

and there was no bargaining

in the closet

no lock to pick

just two people in a closet

squeezed in between

an out of service bike

platform heels

knick knacks

and faux furs

This was not the time for

any number of minutes in heaven

nor anger

but for sitting in the stillness

of how we came to be

stuck

In the end

I could not blame

the danger shoes