The Poetry Marathon

silks of purple nylon
friction tugging on skin
the sorcery of suspension
the perfect spell of
physics strength balance
arms aching from the climb
hands aided
by adhesive resin
gripping fabric threads
Spider-Man-Me
wrap the silks
knot your limbs
bend and pull
hang
however you like
twisting, upside down
unfamiliar orientation
spin out wide
slow graceful turns
tuck in tight
rollercoaster fast
untangle to advance
ascend, muscles burning
arms tired, give way
feet unprepared
crash land on safe mats
palms stinging defeat
only a fledgling
testing new wings

glowing, illumine
currents sway careless beauty
haunting deadly sting

earbuds in
lights off
lay back
eyes closed
mock death
so still
peaceful
deep tones
whisper
their spells
conjuring
illusions
to dance
struggle
survive
they speak
bid me
goodnight

that stupid messy hair
has bothered her for weeks
she can’t stop drawing
his hands pushing unruly curls
he doesn’t ask her to smile
when they take a selfie
only adjusts the angle
about 400 times
the end result
is worth it
he gives her every pickle
from his burgers
because she likes the crunch
the vinegar and salt
his family is funny
so generous
with the little they can give
he makes her smile
most days
and when he can’t
he brings her gifts
of quiet
and time
to sort the sadness out
he isn’t always perfect
forgets some things
rarely on time
fails all his planned
Big Gestures
but she isn’t either
snaps when she’s hangry
isn’t good with feelings
has to slowly learn
to trust
she cuts his hair
in quarantine
long enough to curl
he frames her sketch
the two of them
wrapped up in a hug

it’s party time
smile bright, hold a glass
laugh too loud
don’t actually drink
the last thing you need is to get drunk you cry when you’re drunk

dance with him
flirt with her
enough that people talk
they’ll think you’re up to fun
you aren’t remotely capable of any kind of relationship right now

don’t look over there
avoid each other
if there’s no fight
people will assume all’s well
one of you should apologize you should really apologize

guests are leaving
some together
most completely impaired
say goodbye, shut the doors
shut down the act, throw yourself out with the trash

party’s over.

As a child I would consider
Taking walks around the block at night
I looked out at the sleeping world
and always returned to bed.

Now, I am considering
Taking walks in the woods forever
The reverse wolf-child
Raised by people, living feral
The woods don’t care about grades
They don’t need money or fashion
Social skills a useless commodity
Ambition only to survive

But nature does not require nothing
It demands physical strength
Knowledge on foods and shelter
It may request my willingness to kill.
To snuff out a life
Merely to maintain my own.

And I shake the leaves from my mane,
Smooth it back into a ponytail.
I rinse my paws of dirt
Trim my claws back to neat nails
Straighten my ragged clothes
and crouched limbs
Back to civilized.
Tell nature no thank you.

Return to my world of people
Where medicines assure my wellness
and houses my comfort
Where life can coexist
Just a little easier
and my family is waiting
to welcome home their girl.

my arms used to get tired
straining up to wash my hair
but as I grew up
my arms got stronger
learned how to massage and scrub
lengthy golden locks

long hair was itchy
hot and frizzy and tangled
and a good cause was asking
just shave it all off
my first shower after
I reached up to undo a ponytail
and (not) to my surprise found
fuzzy bald head

buzzed hair meant more washing
but simple daily do’s
it grew out eventually
long curls again, but
I was to hold a Dig Pink
I visited a trusted friend
she was all too happy to give me
neon pink hair

the pink was amazing
but tinted white shirts
and no matter how i washed
always ran in the shower
it faded a bit, but refused to leave
so it got a short summer chop
leaving behind only
little blond bob

my bob has grown out
it tickles, tangles again
ends still too-light blond
from failing to dye out the pink
with natural blond, about halfway down
I ponder as I rinse out the bubbles
what comes next?

Why do I love you?
What is it that make you lovely?

How about your eyes?
They shift with wonderful feelings
crinkle at a joke
tell me with a glance I’m precious.

Or the teakettle?
When it calls, how you sprint to it,
bothered by the sound,
because you feel like it’s angry.

Is it your quiet?
We can sit all day in silence
and still be happy,
not needing all that small talk noise.

It’s not your body.
I would love you in any skin
But because it’s yours,
your body is perfect to me.

It could be your growth.
What once was just beyond your reach
you have conquered it
and I know you will never stop.

I can’t quite remember
what made me fall for you at first.
I’ve been loving you
for all my life that has mattered.

Do I know it’s love?
I will always feel safe with you,
always be brightened
into laughter at your urging
Yes. I know, my love.

First and last (text) lines from Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathon Safran Foer
“What about a teakettle?”
“We would have been safe.”

poor burned Angel
fallen from the sky
your wings have burned
feathers singed
and still you ascend
you’re so naive
limping back
to the one who hurled you
rest a while
let me help
you can rage and rant
but it won’t heal your wings
they told you I was evil
but who has kept you safe?
you are gorgeous, Angel
burns and scars
the only proof you’re even real
those eyes like blue morning glories
hair fluffy and dark
a warrior’s heart and mind
surely it’s their loss
but, alas, you still take flight
you apologized
before you left
perhaps you’ll still come back

ready for bed
an early morning tomorrow
but she texts me
so I layer over my pajamas
tie my hiking boots
and go
up the slope, away from lights
snow and ice
sparkling in moon’s glow
my boots slip across
she points out ponds and creeks
overcome by chill and shadow
she seems disappointed
I haven’t seen them green and bright
it is unusual
but I think it’s better
the untamed darkness and cold
I’ve been sheltered from
are new and exciting
the mountain holds its breath
our adventure its secret
enchanted blankness
rough and marred by boot prints
wonderfully refreshing