The Poetry Marathon

Charcuterie

I need space 

to knit together

the hardbacks that marinate

in my brain.

I need to 

unload this satchel of syrupy savory verbs,

Noun tannins swirl the bouquet like merlot,

Cluster of umami clauses.

I need to 

slice sheets of extra sharp perspective.

Craft characters and place them like olives on oak. 

This is a whole charcuterie.

Sufferage

For Cecilia Streett Waters, Mary D. Randolph, me, you, your mama, and your cousins too

Waiting for States to ratify any decision that would

even the playing field

Is like waiting for a snapping turtle to let go of its dinner.

There is too much money to be made in apartheid, segregation, isms, and inequity.

Corruption is profitable. 

People in power will kill before letting it go.

People who have never needed a 

separate Amendment to be included in the Constitution

always hoard rights when others 

begin to move about the country as freely as they do.

They argue that we who are beneath the boot stop wriggling

Stop biting at the ankles

Stop begging for breath.

They assume lesser evil of inaction is eventual action, but

both options are two roads that diverge in a yellow wood – both worn really about the same.

And we writhe beneath the weight of waiting.

In this swath of stolen land, we fight for the right to exist as entire humans.

100 years ago, we had to fight 

again 

to protect the right to decide who leads us.

Today we fight 

again 

for our very bodies.

Women have always fought in wars defending their tribes and themselves. The tapestry of American womanhood is garrisoned by women ancestors who took what was due them. By usurpers.  

We summon the energies of all of the women who inhabit the women of the USA. 

Colestah

Harriet Tubman

Deborah

Lozen

Tomoe Gozen

We call them up from the soil. 

Jael

Judith

Yennenga

Buffalo Calf Road Woman

Boudicca

We call them out of the waters.

Queen Summuratmat

Queen Vishpala

Artemisia

Nafanua

William Brown

We call them down from the sky.

Pine Leaf

Queen Nzinga

Queen Gudit

The Amazons

The Agoji

Help us avenge us for the sake of our daughters and our daughters’ daughters. 

Waltz

Keeping time requires that the listener 

overcome the awareness of his own body 

in order to sync with the 

vibrations of the whole.

It is painful to fight the waves of music

that require absorption.

Surrender.

There comes a point when you stop mouthing the counts.

Begin with a skip

and a trot 

and a gallup

and a turn

and a spin.

Throw your shoulders back, 

catch the air with your lungs–

levitate.

Hollowed Spaces

“Because if you weren’t an Aunt or a Martha, said Aunt Vidala, what earthly use were you if you didn’t have a baby?” – Margaret Atwood in The Testaments: The Sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale)

The word womb.

The speakers of Old English used the word for belly, bowels, heart, uterus.

Isn’t it amazing that it uses all forms of the word carry?

It holds like a bowl 

like the barrel of a gun

like Hermes.

My last ultrasound was quiet, hollow, void

as it should have been.

The only thing that I would have born 

would have been parasitic and violent,

But the quiet still gutted me.

There is something solemn about an empty womb.

To see it hallowed like a sanctuary, or

hollowed out like a cave

An echoing image of what could be –for better or worse–

another life. 

Sobriety occurs when I have a sneaking suspicion

That the gods aborted all of my babies for me. 

Do I say thank you or scream until there’s a cave-in?

Baptism

As a sucker for symbolism,

I was baptized in elementary school.

I’d witnessed plenty of baptisms in 

baptismal pools

Ponds

Metal wash tubs in store-front churches.

None of them were like mine.

My father – not a pastor – prayed for me and dipped me in our family bathtub.

Usually, robed men lift their hands to God 

Debate whether to say Jesus or Father Son Holy Ghost

Debate whether to sprinkle, dip, dunk, or drown

Some say everything.

Some do everything.

But nobody being baptized really cares what they say at all.

The men mumble on

while you, draped in white,

contemplate how your life will change after this moment.

How after your body makes contact with this water

you will do life right 

this time.

This time is new.

And doesn’t everyone deserve a moment such as this –

A moment when water floods the ears

A moment of shocking cold that palpitates the heart

A moment of weightless abandon to 

Hope

That you can finally be new

And clean

And right

And holy.

Hope is a holy thing that must be watered.

Hello Good People,

I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I write in fits and starts and am a creative who is often at war with herself.  Hopefully, this exercise flips a switch in productivity and dampens the angst.
The part of this journey that is most exciting is getting to discover, reimagine, and rethink the world around me. This virtual fellowship of the poets is a great gift.
It’s about to go down! Happy writing to all.

Sincerely,

Natalie from Kentucky