The Poetry Marathon

I do not know her.
Not in the sense 
  “does anyone really know another person,”
But in the sense
  “she lived a tormented life”
  “she was genius”
  “she eviscerated her soul, and turned it into poetry”
  “she was narcissistic”
  “she was severely depressed”
  “she tried to kill herself before”
No, I do not know her.
My heart attempts to envelop her memory.
I know she still resonates 
In a timely and timeless bond
shared by lost poets.
And myself.

Severely depressed, in the bleak and long winter,
she took her life.
We all know this. 
We all have heard
  of her demons
  her struggles
  her glories
  her failings
She wrote them for the whole world to see.

Yet, before she took her life,
  she attended a dinner party
  readied her children for sleep.
  left food in their room for them.
  left the name of their doctor 
   and other information
  she thought would be needed.
 
Yet, before she took her life,
 before sealing the kitchen windows
   and door
  before turning on the gas
  before neatly placing a folded dish towel in the oven,
   (on which to lay her cheek)
  before sticking her head in the oven
  “as far as it could possibly go”
She took care of her children.

Leaving her coat at her friend’s house
  after she and the children went there for dinner
 Not to have them come and stop her - no!
But to come the next day, to mind the children.

In this time of COVID, please warmly embrace my brief introduction.

Not only am I grateful and honored that is the fourth Poetry Marathon of which I have been an active participant, I am a daughter, wife, mother and grandmother.

Two years ago, I retired from my career in education and am currently working as a cashier in a local grocery store.

Relying on the hourly prompts enable me to stretch as a poet. I look forward to learning and accepting the challenge given.

Ordinarily, I have a tendency to isolate when writing, but not during the Marathon.

During the Marathon, the community of poets keep me going through the small hours of the night.

Unbelievably talented poets come together, sharing in phenomenal poetry. It’s amazing and beautiful. There is nothing like this experience. Every year has been different and fantastic.

Certainly, the 2020 Poetry Marathon is already embedded with the uniqueness that can only come from this year.

Taking in the Marathon through each hour as it comes, keeps me focused on the prompts.

I look forward to reading as many poems as I can and commenting on each that I read.

Obviously, you will experience the Marathon for yourself, but you will not go it alone.

No one can take this away from you. You earn it through every poem.

Poets in the Marathon.
Yes, we were born to run.
Finishing slow, fast, weak and strong.
Yes, we were born to run.
Any way you can,
Yes, we were born to run.

    1.
Childhood was long ago,
Memories cherished dear,
A large, Polish/Catholic family
Suddenly, childhood is near.

    2.
Looking back on family life,
Hindsight seems so clear.
Traditions marked my childhood,
So much more than tears.

Everyone does what they can.

At lease I hope that’s true.

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the technology

to reverse the effects of plastics in the environment?

Wouldn’t it be wonderful

If we could?

Of course,

It’s not enough

to take plastic out of the environment,

We have to stop putting it there!

Your muzzle grows white
Poor, old girl.
Affection starved
Hoping this time
Someone will have time
Someone will help with the stairs
Someone will brush me
And feed me
And walks me
And loves me.

Dear Dad,

I forgot to ask you 
- Parent to parent -
What was the point?
I don’t understand.
You were a hardworking and diligent person.
You found honor in providing for your family.
Why so mean? So unapproachable? 
So.... juvenile?
We weren’t in a competition, 
and I want you to know that.
I don’t know what kind of competition 
We could be in fairly.
But let me be perfectly clear.
You didn’t win.
I’m not sure why you didn’t know that.
I’m not sure why you were so sad,.
so bitter.
It doesn’t matter any more,
unless it does.
It is still a mystery to me
Even after all these years.
Maybe I’ll write again. 
Would you like that?
Or is it still painful to listen to 
your own daughter.
Let me know.
Love, 
Laurie

I hope this letter finds you at peace. I realize that you haven’t heard from me in a long time. In fact, I only realized a few days ago that you have been gone for thirty years now. Do you realize that’s in my life, you’ve been gone longer than you were here?

Do you see Duane? Or Denis? Or Karen? Or Sandy? Mom is fine, she takes good care of herself and is as fiercely independent as ever. It’ amazes me that she is 93 and is still taking care of herself, and Gery and Mike. Well, all of us really, one way or the other.

One day, I will tell people how terrible liver cancer is. I will tell people that you succumbed to cancer, but you were diseased long before the cancer took your life.

You will be happy to know that I no longer yell, It hurts more than it helps. I wish you taught me that, but I learned from the negative example. I learned to do the opposite.

My memories are faulty and unpleasant. I don’t really know if they are actual memories. I don’t remember. I never think of you anymore.

I’m sure I will see you so, or at least soon enough. Take care of yourself.

Love,

Laurie

Where are you going,
in the patterns of chaos?
You seem to be fading,
in the bright flashes.
What do you see,
in the shadows of the light?
You seem to be searching, 
Looking to right.
What are you hearing,
in the pops and bangs?
Are there voices calling
that are solely for you?
You seem serious
Or startled and afraid.
The flashes continue, 
and alone you will stay.