The Poetry Marathon

Crack. Twist. Hard pull.

To whomever finds this, Mom made us use the word whomever. It’s January 1, 1962. John F. Kennedy is president. Mom made us put that part in, too. We are Sam and Erin Jakes. This is our time capsule. We hope you find it 100 years from now. We aren’t famous or anything. So here’s just some stuff in our life right now…

Today’s newspaper. Sorry it’s kind of wrinkled. Dad wouldn’t let it go until he read the whole thing.

Erin’s Barbie, the one that’s missing some hair and a leg.

Erin’s other Barbie, the one with both legs so the other one won’t be alone.

Brownie’s old collar cause she just got a new one.

A couple leaves from the climbing tree in the backyard so if it’s gone maybe you can plant a new one.

My old shoelaces… still pretty good.

A little gutter water from in front of our house. It has a lot of weird stuff in it you can see in a microscope.

A cigarette I snuck from Dad’s pack

Some matches in case you wanna try a cigarette from 1962.

A dried out squashed frog I found in the street the other day.

A picture of me and Erin at the beach last year.

I don’t know where I will be in 100 years, but you can visit Erin at Foreat Lawn in the garden area. She’ll be there. There’s a pond and lots of ducks. Maybe they will still be there in 100 years. If you go, take some old bread for them, and flowers for Erin. That’s what we do.

…would have slain me to see what would not now be in them

had I looked
had I taken the flight
picked up the phone
called myself to task
shown up wearing black

would have slain me to see her wearing the periwinkle dress from my wedding decades ago

had I been brave

to see her pretty hands that she hated to watch age, crossed over her belly familiarly like when she dozed in her chair next to his empty one

had I been a little more selfless

would have slain me to comb her mom hair and paint her nails pink one last time and tuck her fancy shoes in by her feet and favorite afghan

had I been stronger I know that her divine eyes would no longer refuse to look into mine, since the sorrow which seemed eternal and would have slain me to see what would not now be in them.

He found a gun and shot her.
He found a gun and shot her.
He found a gun and shot her.
He found his mother’s gun with his tiny four year old little boy hands and shot her in her 20 month old pink little sister face.

There is no poetry here.
There is no poetry here.
There is no poetry here.
There is no poetry anywhere now…
no poetry lives here.

Steamy black feels cool
unfussy
minimalist

Mmmm… maybe no.

Maybe I just feel like a
cool unfussy minimalist ordering it
sitting next to it
sipping silently into it

Mmmm… yes. Definitely yes.

Cool

Frank Sinatra cool

Something shifts in your world
when you move to that neighborhood

that “Just black, thanks.” city

that “I have an invisible fedora perfectly poised on my head. You can’t see it, but you feel it.” avenue

that “No change. Yes, really.”
side of the street.

“Talk about something ending.” He started.

“That’s broad” I thought.
Phone plan
My lease
I don’t know… everything ends…

Buying diapers
formula, babyfood
sippy cups
those little puffy crackers
with bananas on the tube…

back to school clothes
new backpack, lunchbox, fresh pencils
yellow boxed crayons with the built in sharpener on the back

Santa stuff!     Santa stuff…

acne creams
soapsgelsscrubsmasks video games
more food than you ever thought
one human could consume
noteworthy tennis shoes

That first car.

college tuition
off campus housing
packages from home of even still more food

his part: the tux;
the last most food he will ever ask you for.

“Maybe these are more inevitables
than endings,”
I ponder to my empty except me room, “though they do end.”

She liked pink blankets after he went over, and eating only nonmeals

non utencil meals

finger foods

but not wings. Wings were their thing.
Everything was their thing
until everything ended… inevitably.

Sixty one years of endings together
five more for her alone.
Five more of diapers
formulas
sippy cups
little puffy crackers
with fish on the carton

sophisticated coloring books

malomars

Malomarsmalomarsmalomars…

White Lilies

That spot right next to him
with the view they chose together.

Wishing all marathoners whatever gets you through!

May your muse be with you!

See you on the other side,

Elizabeth

Aloha All!

One week to go! I am so excited about this year’s marathon! I have been setting that 1 hour timer and practicing. Next… snack shopping! Welcome all to the 2021 Poetry Marathon! See you in there!

Elizabeth

“Are you really gonna do that poetry all nighter again, Gramma?”

“Yes, Bud, I am. I love it!”

“Okay then. I will stay up with  you. I will be your assistant like last year.”

:”That sounds great, Cam! Thank you!”

“But Gramma, can I just play video games with my friends and then when you need anything you can just ask me for it?”

“I like it! Let’s do that.”

“Okay, and if I get hungry, will you stop and make me something to eat?”

“Honey, that is what the assistant does. So, if I get hungry, will you make me something to eat?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Okay. It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, oh and Gramma, can I have that chocolate in the freezer?”

“That is poem reward chocolate. You can have a piece when I get one. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Twenty four hours.

Twenty four poems written.

Grateful poets rest.

Elizabeth Fellows

6/28/2020, 2am

This day belongs to me.

I will not share it.

I will not cook or clean.

I will not go to work.

If I shut the door today, it is okay.

If I ask you to figure it out yourself today

that is okay too

because today is mine

and I do not  have to share it.

Today is my Christmas

and all the gifts are mine

the gifts of unencumbered thought

and time to unfold, to write and discover

and craft words into powerful poetry.

Today is one of my favorite days of the year.

I cherish it and look forward to it all year long.

Today is mine. It belongs to me, and I to it.

It is mine, and I am grateful.

Elizabeth Fellows

6/28/2020, 1am

Bless the Muse who stayed by my side

tapping my shoulder

whispering in my ear

offering words when my tongue was parched

and my mind empty.

I will send you

silver strands from my head

on the backs of Sunday breezes

in gratitude for your encouragement

and lyrics when I had none.

Elizabeth Fellows

6/28/2020, 12am