The Poetry Marathon

Where are you?
And are there hawks there?
I see them everywhere,
since the day you left us.

Can you hear me?
When I talk to you, or cry?
I want to believe that you do.

I know you’ve been back to visit,
coincidences can’t possibly be this specific

seeing your face in a dream,
and hearing the music as you pass me your earbuds

waking to find my necklace
which holds your ashes,
disconnected from my neck
on the same day when Mike proposed,

I know you are around.

I don’t know what that means,

and frankly I don’t care

I just need to be able to reach out to you.
I need you to know how much I cared.
I need my brother.

I love you, brother mine

Taking a step back from family,
I choose to accept myself for me.

Years of biting my tongue,
taking the high road,
or just plain hiding myself,
all culminate in one text exchange:

“Please support your family,
come to your grandson’s memorial service,
even if you don’t agree with the way we do things,
your family needs you”

…

This was enough to open flood gates.
This was enough to call a grieving girl
vile names.

This was the last straw.

I never thought I
had it in me to set boundaries.
I never thought
it was truly possible to
leave this pain in the past.

I never thought I could
escape
narcissistic elders
who’ve never been told no.

But I did.

It’s painful.
It was devastating
for a period of time.
It left my heart pounding
in a way that even grief didn’t
quite
mimic.

At a time where I thought
things couldn’t get any worse

the people who are supposed to be
caring
loving
supportive
somehow ensured that it did.

I will never return
to allowing people to step over
me.
My thoughts,
my opinions,
my true self,
are never going to be concealed again
especially not in hopes of gaining love

from someone I should never have had to convince.

A family holiday—
surrounded by the people
meant to most love and
support each other,

I never felt that love.

I’m not what you would call
a black sheep.
I wasn’t rebellious,
I wasn’t outspoken,
I was just the middle child surrounded by
kids more deserving of time and affection.

Among my crimes:
being a vegetarian,
singing too loudly,
being a subpar gardener,
not being able to see visual illusions.

I felt ostracized from the time I was
six years old.

Surrounded by this atmosphere,
I knew I was the problem.

Clearly,
I wasn’t trying hard enough.

My grandma and grandpa,
my mother’s parents,
always hid the spite behind
fake smiles and side-eye

Now, I can see them for what they are.
Now, I have been to therapy.
Now, I know better than to bite my tongue.

Now, they aren’t a part of my life.
And never will be again.

Wandering through greenery
in search of a prize,
eyes peeled for signs of change—
her mind is empty as her focus hones.

Why—
what do you gain from
wandering?
Aimless in the heat
surrounded by biting bugs
and blazing beats of sunshine.

What prize is there
to be found among the trees?

She doesn’t understand it
entirely
herself.
The draw of the warm air,
the smell of the water
of the river nearby,
the dulling of her vision that comes
with the brightest light of the day.

All lead to the smallest victory.
A nameless mushroom,
squat and grey,
hidden against the trunk of a
Russian Olive tree.

What is it that draws her in?

Drive,
wonder,
and her own fairy experience.

A breath to great trepidation,
the watch point arrived.

She took things in through the chest,
smiling among the wreckage.

My time in dwindling smoke arrived,
beginning above ruffled eyes–

Coffee and a signature made my way,
through disjointed movements, a
self-conscious glance at a human.

Hide and seek—
three kids making the most
of a new apartment,
boxes everywhere

Who could have guessed something
so soft, could turn so
scary.

Youngest child,
squeegee in hand,
jumps off a box and
onto her older brother’s head.

Blood rushes and the
game is quickly disbanded.

He was okay.
A memory was made,
one we would joke about for years,

even if tinged with fear.

We moved forward,
the fear was forgotten,
life went on.

Had I known what was to come,
I might have lived in those
proceeding moments
just a little longer.

Had I known he would be taken,
not by a squeegee,
but by cruel reality,
I would have clung to my brother

much
more
tightly.

Seated at the counter’s edge
I cannot bring my greatest lev’

rage against those who would try
to take from me my heart’s desire
and throw my rights into the fire

My pain today is well known as
the world begins to grasp the

weight of what they’ve placed upon
the women, left to sink in ponds

Seated at the counter’s edge
The image asserts itself again

My pain today is well known as
the life I pictured takes the past
and asserts the values of the ass

who falls upon his religion and
strikes us with his pious hand

What is more lonely
than a book on a shelf?

Whether read years ago and not opened since,
or purchased and forgotten,

the pages contain worlds.
But those worlds are hidden—

unrealized.

Days turn to weeks turn to years
as the enormity contained in just one shelf
remains untapped.

Only this building pressure can explain
the power that is released as—
finally—
the book is lifted

and turned to that first page.

I stress,
I lurch,
I yell,

and finally I’m silent.

This moment has taken advantage of me and
I have lost touch with my own voice.

A voice which preaches empathy,
understanding,
a gentle touch.

This is my aspiration, yet

I am new to this world
and that vulnerability sweeps
me away.

Desperate to appear professional,
in control,
competent,
I embody those traits I despise.

It is only when I slow down
and begin to release the control I have been
grasping so tightly

that I return to myself.

A calm talk,
a release of energy,
a mountain of stress surmounted.

I feel much better.

A wine glass tucked in the corner,
a crack running down its globe,
tells the story of my realm

that translucent crack
visible to all the world
cannot be hidden
but will not be a hinderance either

the glass stands strong,
pieces separated, but still
unified

I polish, I perfect
I work to heal the crack
that has been run through me

yes, I am cracked,
but I remain
strong
unified
with the people I love and
with the pieces of me

always moving forward