The Poetry Marathon

Wasting time

is easy to do when I’m with you.
Days become weeks become years ticking
away with each stroke of the clock, each rev
of the engine. Being with you makes
me understand just how small we really
are. Like trying to catch drops of water
leaking from the faucet, not knowing
the bottom of my cup has a heart-
sized hole. I try to crumple up every
gift, every memory, every moment
like a scrap of paper pencil-penned
with lyrics of a bad tune. But
I wonder if I can when I realize
that I’m the one saying goodbye.

Hey guys! This is my second year of the marathon, this year tackling the full marathon. I’m excited and nervous and thrilled and so many other emotions all in one. I know things will be great, though. I hope you all enjoy the poetry that my heart bleeds. God bless <3

Beginning and End

Only

Ruses

Ignite

Orion’s

Night

Guard Dogs

When Papaw Kidd died, he left

two dogs behind. They sat

on his porch, staring at trees,

waiting for family to come

and clean out his closet stuffed

with overalls and white shirts

and dirty boots. One German

Shepherd, one Cocker Spaniel,

both light brown and dusty

porcelain. Mommy fought

cousins to keep the dogs

for me, to hold, to guard.

My dad collects cherry seeds

stores them in his old Nestle

bottle, its inch of water

reddened with pulp and extra

saliva. He pitted cherries

with his tongue, brimmed his mouth

with dozens of seeds and spit.

They tumbled through his yellowed

teeth and splash and live and bleed.

Scabs

I have scabs on my knees,

on my elbows, on my chin.

I fall, and catch myself

on the ground, not realizing

that it will be hard

to get up and walk away

unscathed. I carry my

scabs as badges, a map

of where I’ve been

and where I’ll go.

At The Circus

Baraboo, Wisconsin beams

red, yellow, lime green with promise.

Rain pours so hard it drowns

the circus, floods the streets, the tents,

the Rudolph noses and ghost-

white diamonded faces. Water

swallows the swinging trapeze,

the unnetted tightrope. Tigers

and elephants are gobbled

by Noah’s ancient waters.

Playing the ukulele

for the first time leaves

you with fingers numb

as a child’s blue

ones after playing

in the blizzard, as

Mom’s after scraping

ice from the windshield,

as bones grown raw.

Shawn’s Poem

I never choke

her as we make

love. She reaches

up to me, grabs

my tongue, and pulls

out my spine.