The Poetry Marathon

The Joy of Things Unseen

The dog waits at the door and hears, whimpering soon replaced.

Joy jumps like paws, scratching warped wood as sounds of car locks beep,

of owners returning home. The cat climbs curtains and stares,

things moving slowly under her intent peer. Keys jingle,

unseen. The dog barks at what’s here, knowing without knowing.

Constellation

There are no stars

to define me

anymore.

Hey, guys! Welcome to my page! This is my 4th (!!!!) marathon — 2 fulls and a half, this will be my third. As I sat and thought about what I was going to write about, I felt a little uneasy, a tad bit lost. I had muses for my first two marathons, and a pseudo-muse for my third. This year, though, I realized that, even though last year I denoted myself as my own muse, I had gotten lost in the noise. Doing so last year felt so unnatural and awkward. This, I’m determined to strengthen that resolution — I will be my own muse. I have to be.

So here’s to a marathon filled with awe and wonder, self-discovery and self-reflection. A marathon by and for me; poetry for the sake of poetry. Here’s to a marathon of finding who I am and who I want to be. Here’s to a marathon of understanding that I deserve to be my own muse. Here’s to a marathon of me.

As always, many blessings to you.

Have a day filled with love, light, warmth, poetry, and — most importantly — YOU.

Who We Were

When I look up at the stars,

I think of you.

Our six-in-the-morning

car rides, eyes wide

with dreams of after college,

of holding hands

city to city, of love

that withstands time

and five-hundred miles.

Our midnight trips

to starlit cow fields, nothing

in our way

except fear of the unknown.

When the darkness

crept up our necks we shivered,

shook it off

our backs and kept on driving,

our little world

still ready to explore.

Abandoning the one who abandoned me

Be sure to tell Dad that I love him, that only
strong men survive being frigid for so long,
in sad times to look above, to rejoice, to share
the love poured down, to stop and grasp your
Lord before He ceases to be, to smile.

I’ll Wait

Keep ringing the doorbell in the rain, I’ll wait

for you to leave before opening to check

if you’re a man I want to let in and grasp

at your shoes, yanking them off in desperation

to rid yourself of rain that seeped past

your socks and clings to your toes, I’ll wait

before my hand shakes and I lean and grasp

at the round, cool handle keeping you out. I’ll let

the rain fall, let it drench your core, let you shiver

as you hover on my stoop and wait.

Glasses

It’s funny how you can’t see the grease

when you’re looking in the mirror

but you see it when you’re looking

out, trying to gaze at the world.

Already Human

I need you to be

something you’re not,

someone who already

is, no instruction

manual needed

to operate.

Someone who knows

what to do, how to act,

what it means to be

a human, fully

formed, ready to love.

When I kiss him I know

that you’ll never be

who I need, but I still

dream of an us, not

consumed by misfunction,

an us bursting, being

who we need. I’ll wait,

though, for you to be,

to say my name and know

what it means to be

Dizzy with Poison

The ant stumbles across the bathroom floor,

swirling, twisting, roaming without ambition.

Normally bee-lining for food, this dance

reeks of the poison set out yesterday.

Towards the window, away, towards again, away,

swayed by a wind no one else can feel, circling.

I take the bottle of Raid and spray, dousing

the ant with amounts that drown, not trusting

the kill on contact label plastered

across the cool can. But I missed. In the mirror

I see the same dance, spinning and whirling

in directions I never knew I could go.

When Dreams Feel Real:

A Christmas Story

When I was six, Santa came

in the darkened house as I slept

on the frontroom couch. He strolled

in the door and passed as I stared,

pretending to sleep as I watched

his velvet shimmer and his sack

shake with each ginger step.

When he looked for Eddie, asleep

in our bunk beds, I ran

to Mommy’s room and spilled

his secret. She snarled

and said, Go back to bed.

I did, but never forgot.