The Poetry Marathon

Starry Night: Over Rhone

The immersive exhibit blares

on the speakers, engulfing

ears in tunes, gentle lullabies

broken up by drums and trumpets.

The lull of the paintings stretched

across the walls lulls minds and hearts

into worlds that don’t exist. Stars

curl around the mirror’s dent

and swirls with the town below,

resting among the water’s depths.

Being a Toddler Teacher has its Ups and Downs

They stomp along the carpet line, croc-ed

feet following the blue and red.

We are the Dinosaurs plays

loud on the speaker, tells

them to rest, to eat,

marching, marching.

What do you

think of

that?

By Northeastern

At the street, behind the black jagged fence, the dirt rises

higher than the rest. A new grave. The earth is pummeled, worms

crawling towards the sky, engulfed by air and clouds. A balloon

twists in the wind, a golden 5 masked by the foil flowers

floating with it. I drive by and hope I’m missing the sight

of another number, not wanting a child to have died.

I tell myself the 5 is for the five new mounds, unearthed

by the curbside, and shake the image away. I wave

knowing that they want to be here, to be remembered,

even when they’re trapped beneath cold markings of lives once lived,

want to be loved, warm hearts once beating ‘til their final ba-boom.

The water’s cold when Daddy’s gone

I pull the tap straight up, expecting heat

to cover my hands. But the cold rushes

from the faucet and freezes my fingers

as I try to swirl the germs away. Daddy

wasn’t here to turn the knob and leave

it where he left it: ready to burn

and tingle small hands that won’t stop moving.

Trapped

Head held steady beneath the maroon

towel, trying to breathe in the fumes

of microwaved water, in strong hopes

that the dark will unclog a nose blocked.

Scalding water looms inches beneath

a fearing face unglassed, collecting

dew droplets rising to the sky.

What do you do with all the mistakes?

Paint pours that didn’t turn

out the way you wanted:

do you scrape the canvas,

wipe it clean, refreshed

for another try, blank,

or do you leave paint smeared

still, untouched and kept, showing

how you were, where you’ve been,

a glimpse of who you’ll be?

Worm Farm

Daddy bought a case, a half-slab circle

and filled it with dirt. He emptied the worms,

shook them from the container until they fell,

growing wings in ways they weren’t meant. They crawled

across the surface and then burrowed,

neatly tucking heads into the dark. I watched

through the side as they moved, slithered, snakes

into the unknown. Wanting more, I asked,

Daddy, when can we add the slugs?

The house behind glass walls

I groom my grass, push the blades

to the side and expose the dirt.

I point my finger and drag,

tracing a circle in the dust.

I watch ants slink by, snails pull

their bodies and make their spirals,

mazes that never end. The butterfly

floats by, wings quickly flapping,

preparing to land on the purple

clover perched above the earth,

I grab my cage, turn it, poised

to capture. Slowly I inch,

new house in hand, then zoom,

catching air on my way down.

I leave the glass and creep

back, and watch it flutter,

fly into the walls, trying

to reach the sky, same as I.

Marriage

I wish I said, Yes, knowing it wouldn’t last, just to hold

you longer and keep you close, as the fear of loss

and other girls yanked my heart from yours. Lying

on your chest at night, I’d feel each beat and pulse, blood

racing through your veins same as mine. We’d twist our bodies

in a dance meant just for us, thank God for time

unwasted, while knowing I’m not your only one.

Cerises Douces, California

Pitted cherries sit on my counter, waiting

for me to eat. Mommy carved them, little

pumpkins that she never cut

and made glow as I grew. I stab

each cherry and taste the bitter

juice, and remember the rising

of the fork in the light has the same

leap and fall of the heart she made me.