The Poetry Marathon

Dear Future Starla,
don’t forget.

Don’t forget the priceless advice
given to you by venerated mentors,
or the joy that brought you to tears when
you earned their approval.

Don’t forget endless laughter
brought on by countless movie nights
stretched into the wee hours of the morning
with the friends who know you best.

Don’t forget the fear you felt
the day you decided to plant both feet
and start running toward your dreams
at full speed, finally allowing yourself
to take that chance.

Don’t forget the adrenaline rush
the first time you rode your bike over
expressway bridge, and realized that hill
could not stop you, much less any other obstacle.

Don’t forget the emotions that have
allowed you to be fragile, exactly
when you most needed that vulnerability.
That emotional person is the truest
form of you. And you are at your best
when she takes the reins.

When you are emotional, something amazing
will surely be the result.

A Paradelle:

A green realm, surrounded by birch
A green realm, surrounded by birch
Within the branches, fairies play
Within the branches, fairies play
Branches play within a birch realm,
The fairies – surrounded by green

Blossoms litter the forest floor
Blossoms litter the forest floor
Loose petals dance through the air like rain
Loose petals dance through the air like rain
Forest blossoms litter loose like air
The petals rain, dance through the floor

Girls with opalescent wings glide free
Girls with opalescent wings glide free
Their joy knows no bounds
Their joy knows no bounds
Opalescent joy bounds free with their
girls’ wings – knows no glide

No blossoms free the fairies’ floor
The realm surrounded by birch branches
Opalescent rain knows a green glide
Their joy bounds through air, litter
Loose petals with wings dance, play
Like girls within the forest

Why did it come so easily to mind,
the decision to change my life?
Just a spark, a passing notion one
lazy summer day. That zing set me on a
new adventure.

In theory it’s exciting, not scary at all.
A new purpose, bringing with it
determination and a throng of new friends.

One week before classes begin.
I’m going to be a college student,
finally, only five years late.
The impending change is suddenly daunting.
How will life continue? When will it all
become too much? Can I do this?

Assignments daily, deadlines constant,
I’ve used my education to propel
me into a dreamer once again.
I look forward to graduating, to becoming
a writer, a teacher, a professional,
but more than that I find joy
in using my mind again.

I memorize, I read, I criticize and heed
the criticism offered to me. I dive
headfirst into a world of literature and science
that my thoughts have long since abandoned.
I “feel smart” for the first time since
graduating high school.

I’m using my mind in a whole new way
and reaching for my brand new dreams
all at the same time.

It feels amazing to have my life so in focus,
yet so precarious.

This is living.

Before
Humans
there was peace

There was predation, yes,
and pain, but the world lacked the
torture, murder, and blatant selfishness
that only the human animal
brings to the proverbial table.

Before people, there was nature.
Back when ever-expanding cities
(who now bulldoze all
that stands in their way)
weren’t even a thought. Weren’t presumed
the necessity (to whom?) that they now are.
The natural world was unscathed by our
greed, our endless capacity for destruction.

Before men and women, there were animals,
now long since deceased. Our thoughtless
actions the direct cause of their species
dying.
We don’t notice, refuse to open our
eyes, as long as their absence
doesn’t affect our standard of living.

The world was far better off
before
humans.

“The land knows you,
even when you are lost”

The soft imprint of your foot
in the malleable ground, shows
exactly where you’ve been.

The weathered trail shows hints
of each person who has passed over it,
a faint trace of unhampered moments
spent connecting with the self and the world

Rays of sun or flakes of snow,
each reminds your body of a day
a feeling, a person

the walk just outside home
bears marks of your footprints,
knows you,
expects you.

The natural world embraces you
in a way people never could
and even if you think you are
dislodged or out of place,
when you are with nature you are more
at home than you’ve ever been.

Is he a drug addict?
Is he depressed?
Is he a murderer?

All questions posed by poised college students
reading what can only be their first
taste of one Edgar Allen Poe.

They don’t understand his fixations,
his musings into the human psyche.

“Why would he write about murder
unless he had thought about
committing it himself?”
a real question asked by a
fearful nineteen year old.

We can’t pretend. Every person inspects
the world for the unusual or deranged.
Every person fixates on the mysterious,
ponders what might one day kill them.
They each pray that no harm ever comes
to them, like what they see on the news.

Poe brings their fears into the spotlight.
He allows us to analyze every flaw
in the human condition. He puts the
dark and disastrous center stage.

He makes us face it.

His eyes, his hoodie,
even the barbell hugging his eyebrow,

Her jacket, her hair,
the purse that carried her,

Each item the same neutral hue,
her favorite military green
flowing into every aspect of her life

Her favorite scrubs, a comfort in her work,
her scribbled ramblings in a
sketchbook in the drawer,
his pajama pants, that she loved to wear to bed, all shared the natural shade
which was like home to her.

Right down to the weathered chair
she salvaged from a thrift store, carried home
on her back, walked 8 blocks alone
and looking like a fool.

It now rested in a dimly lit corner
perfectly tucked away, so that in her bedroom,
her new favorite place to read matched herself-

a small, green, unassuming piece of furniture,
often overlooked, but
deeply loved
by the right people.

She let the sway of the workday move her
as people all around dictated where she went,
what she did there, and for how long.

She followed the crowd of “friends” to a bar
in which she had no interest, and made
small talk while snacking on chips.

She rushed herself back to the car,
counting on both hands the errands she
had yet to complete, while calculating
how long she might be able to sleep tonight.

She did it all, then she barreled through her
bedroom door, collapsed on the bed,
and took the deepest breath she might have
ever taken.

She felt it in her chest, her brain, her fingertips,
and all the way in the soles of her feet.
She let the relief flood her body as,
for the first time all day,
she was still.

I look up in awe, as the creatures I idolize
stand twenty feet away, completely
unaware of my existence, unbothered
by the tears beginning to gather at
the corners of my eyes.

There is no explanation, no deep-seated
reason for my sudden overflow of emotions.
The excitement, the pure childish joy
that bounds from my chest is not
unexpected, but exceeds anything I was
prepared for. I glimpse the looks on my friends’

faces. They see me. They understand,
they are as happy for me as I am for myself,
and as I hold out a long branch to the
long-necked animal far too large to dream
of keeping as a pet, those friends
cheer me on. This is
my dream. I’ve waited 24 years.

Just to pet a giraffe.

Funny Girl

What a strange girl she is
who avoids parties like death
who doesn’t drink, or smoke
or JUUL
who instead prefers the company

of her seven pets, the zoo of her home.
She reads books as they lay by her feet,
she cleans house as they trail behind her,
does her homework as they nap on her back

and she is at ease cuddled into their fur.

What an odd thing, with her hair lopped off,
nothing left to dance in the air behind her
as her bike crashes down another path,
a loud laugh crashing from her throat
simultaneously.

What a weird chick, who gets animated
about a song or a movie
and catches her voice rising louder and louder,
thrilled to express the quirks that make her who she is.

What a funny girl.