The Poetry Marathon

This is me, filled to the brim with pink hearts
and covered in sweet paw prints.
Oh look, there is a ball of yarn!
Did someone leave me that as a present?

I do want to vomit when I view the one I call The Peach
and my heart is broken by all that I’ve witnessed.

Still sometimes I can wink or fall into bouts of hysterical laughter
until I scare myself so much that I zip my mouth shut.

I see an ant crawling on a stack of books while
a rainbow arches over a block of cheese.
I cut the lemon off the tree with my scissors, pick up dog poop from the yard and then,
at last, I adjust my halo and settle down for my daily massage.

The world has quieted and now
the birds are free to sing,
no longer competing with the noise
of cars and jets.

In this calm, mama hummingbird builds her nest
on a wind chime and she
raises her baby
while they rock gently together in the breeze.

We get regular deliveries:
sugar from Instacart to make hummingbird nectar
bird seed in bulk from chewy.com
new feeders from Amazon.

The Fed Ex truck arrives and the gate is slammed.
The dogs run madly to inspect the box
and sniff disappointedly at yet another
present for the birds.

Light skips and sparkles
across deep blue water
and schools of fish
swirl beneath our boat.

We are a blur of laughter and hugs.
We perch on the boat’s edge
and dangle our hands
into the blue bellow.

Then we enter the cave:
dark, cool, silent.
The guide points out the goddess
and we greet her together.

This boat moves like magic,
a simple push with the oar
and I am floating through the stars.

Beloved, we are here just now
and time is fleeting.
Let us row together through
the moonlight.

The lullaby suggests we will return
but the fable casts a murkier truth.
The light scatters across the lake,
inviting us into the darkness.

These are the black shells that washed up from the ocean
as you were leaving.
See? I have them here on this little shelf turned altar.
Here is your photo with Becky and the dogs.
Here is the angel you drew
when you learned of the cancer.

This is the dryer ball in the shape of a hedgehog.
Remember when I sent that to you?
You said the bouncing sound in the dryer made you laugh
and that made me happy.
Somehow Michael knew to send it back to me afterward.
Anyone would wonder why a dryer ball belongs on an altar.

It is sacred.

And here are your words sweeping across the sky –
the way you signed your letters
with a flourish:
Peace. Love. Patti.
I repeat these words and they transform:

Here. Now. Forever.

One day folds into the next
and I am disoriented
by so much time, so little time
At night, my dreams are haunted
by face masks, germs
and nasal swabs.

What time is it now?

Sometimes I think
how much I will age
before my next pub drink with friends
and that I might not see my dad again
and then I distract myself
filling hummingbird feeders
scrubbing the sink
watching protests on the news.

What time is it now?

We can use this pause
if we seize the moment:
dismantle racist structures
pay attention to the planet
focus on peace
but we cannot wait another minute

What time is it now?

Ingredients:
1. Bark (may substitute woof if needed)
2. Loyalty
3. Joy
4. Wolf ancestry
5. Play

Directions: mix the bark and wolf ancestry together in a large bowl. Stir in five spoonfuls of loyalty and whisk until mixture is smooth. Using a grater, add in joy and play to taste.

Note: This recipe is for an energetic terrier. Cut back on bark and wolf ancestry if desired.

She often says, “I’d rather ask forgiveness
than ask permission” and
this is how she creates
magic from her intentions.

Beachside cottages, children,
an apartment for the cats,
then a labyrinth, a real labyrinth,
taking shape in the desert
under her direction.

At the solstice we gather
and set our intentions,
then walk the circular path
toward peace and clarity.

We bless the four directions.
We drink cider and eat gingersnaps.
We build community made possible
by one woman’s bold vision.

Hi everyone,

My name is Diane and I live in Southern California with my partner, four dogs and one tabby cat. I participated in my first poetry half-marathon last year and it was absolutely the hardest and most thrilling writing experience of my life. I was astonished by the process itself and by some of the poems that emerged. And I was very honored to have one poem selected for last year’s anthology.

I am very grateful to our poetry gurus for creating another poetry marathon/half-marathon this year.

Like many of you, I’m sure, I am very distracted and anxious these days. My life is so different than last year. I am honestly less confident about my ability to concentrate and keep up. And, yet, I also think this half-marathon is probably one of the most important things I can do right now.

As writers, we bear witness. As writers, we channel voices. As writers, we help to bring change.

And I am ready to be part of that change.

I look forward to reading your work and being part of this wonderful group.

Very best,

Diane

Once 700 Japanese-Americans were held here,
tents,
desert heat,
barbed wire,
guards.

Now we bring in new detainees,
adults,
young people,
toddlers,
infants.

Stop repeating history,
grim conditions,
dangerous conditions,
family separation.