The Poetry Marathon

one of the valiant
born into the silent generation
you did not sit quietly

as your question burned
across the country
one that took so long to ask

like a leaf on a tree
that flames with the sun’s touch
and paints the future

a brighter tint

you and the other famous four
fed the roots of this country’s tree
branched off into new limbs

that we hang on now

Hello Poetry Marathoners!

I am thrilled to be participating in my third half-marathon. I want to thank Caitlin and Jacob once again for giving us this fabulous opportunity. The last two years, I came away with several poems I have been able to edit, and I hope with this year to be able to do the same. It is a tough contest, and I usually prepare by checking out the prompts and writing for an hour, then doing another prompt. A few days later, I replicate the same practice, but add in another hour and another prompt. Last year, I was able to get up to four hours in one day as a practice session before the actual contest.

I also usually prepare snacks and meals to have on hand for fuel, and I always get one walk in – during the hour I feel most stuck, or the hour I have something written fairly quickly. I am so looking forward to this year’s round. The prompts are challenging, but brilliant, and the community of poets offering feedback and encouragement are so inspiring.

I am a published author of eight YA Hi-Lo novels and though I have created my own chapbooks of poetry, I am still waiting for a publishing break with my poems. Happy writing to all!

Cristy

The Melting of Molly by Maria Thompson Davies
(an erasure poem)

Melting Molly
________________________

Twenty
and full –
and nobody
did anything for me

tying
up a dancing, frolicking
colt of a girl
with a ponderous bridle –

God
didn’t see me, and not caring
what happened to me
in this world

He
put me out
for contempt
of court.

The
town didn’t
mean anything by
chastening my spirit –

of
that, I feel sure.
It settled itself
here in a valley

a
few hundreds of
years ago and has been
clucking over its

affairs
ever since.
The houses set
back with their

wings
spread out and
mothers go on
hovering even to the third

generation.
Young, long-legged
boys scramble out
of the nests

and
decide to grow up –
where the crow
will be heard

by
the world

…

one
of them.

Dear Cristy, Sitting at the Hairdressers, 1984
___________________________________________

Don’t do it!
Only two days before the drive
across the Rockies,
through the pass

a ferry ride
to the island, then drive
up the curving highway

home to my second home –
back to Comox
for your wedding.

(Thankfully, your marriage continues
to outlast my hairstyles)

I repeat – don’t do it!
Days before the practice –
the walk down the aisle
to turn and smile as
you make your way

to the future. The photos
that night, in your parent’s
basement – the photos
on THE DAY – pink

and burgundy.
Your long, blonde locks;
your sister’s long, blonde locks –
80’s hair, where everyone

had long, softly curled locks.

Don’t do it!
Days before the wedding,
before the play-list of your
favourite songs, before the food

tables lined with pot-luck
favourites
before the first
dance…

don’t let that beady-eyed
hairdresser shear your
longer than shoulder-length
hair to just above your ear –

don’t let that nasty-toothed
hairdresser put your silky
auburn locks in
little orange rollers,

permed to a
tightness
forever captured
on polaroid –

that belies
your spirit.

gone with the wind
_______________________

she appreciates the concrete –
terra firma beneath her feet

the fir-lined horizon
a welcome sight

after so long at sea –
a wandering bark

blue on blue
for months on end

(interrupted only by a hush
of whispers in the fog)

no place to dock
until today – now she stands

coffee and a moonbeam
in hand, the canteen

teeming with fishermen
buying tackle and bait

but they’ll have to wait,
put their advances on the shelf

with her coffee cup –
only the wind at her back

(that damn sea-spray
calling her by name)

only the wind at her back
– always leaving

The Great Alone
_________________

How heavy is the world?
You asked your dad
before realizing it
weighed him down

How far to the moon?
You asked your mom
before knowing its
vastness consumed her

How is want, a brother
And need, a sister?
You asked the universe before
blowing out your birthday candles

How full are my dreams?
You asked yourself
before facing
the great alone

Youth is when your skin is soft,
your drive hard and your mind,
somewhere in between

It is luscious afternoons of mingling
body heat, the expanse of new experiences,
and bonfires at the beach until the break of dawn

… then you wake to find a grey hair.

tomorrow is a party
_________________

thank you for your un-
assuming tune,
your quiet reminder
that even during

droughts of humanity
there are epiphytes –
coiled in their nests,
waiting; biding putrid

seasons to become
robust again. and
when we come
once more to spring

we will
step out,
donning our pearls
and new shoes.

from there to here
__________________________

yes, your fingers bled on the cotton
you tripped over words like
jello and jump
a breathy silence beginning
your father’s name
jesus – not the son of…
but more like that
other god: ‘hey, zeus’

your friends were sent home
in the 50’s while you stayed –
wearing flour-sack dresses,
eating tamales
and wondering
how the future
would look different
than it did that day

never expecting
a repeat of history
more blatant than
the last and
while you wrestle
with this new order
your daughter writes poems
in a canadian city

where she was born
with snow angels
and hope
the colour of
every skin –
your people
a story bigger
than these words can hold

the unraveling
_______________

ill-lit
the space cramped
i feel my way
with shaking hands

un-
familiar, earth damp
knowing i’m
not in command

of my thoughts.
the direction unknown
i travel forward
for nights on end

memories
upturned, not sown
a fork in the brain
begins the bend

folding,
like a poker hand
grip slips
the loss is real

fading food
like hourglass sand
heavy, weighted
winter’s peel

banana…
beach…
thick…
snow drift.