2021 #7 – Normal
What is normal? Conforming to the usual. What is "usual"? Who determines the "usual"? Why do they get to say what is "usual"? If I say what is normal, how can anyone say I am abnormal? Normal is subjective. It is compliance to a standard. What is normal for one, may not be for another. The only normal that should be universal, is to be tolerant of other peoples' normal.
Farm life
I have horses.
I have dogs.
I have turtles.
I have fish.
I have guinea pigs.
I have children.
And I have a husband too.
Hay for the horses at 5:30
Walk the dog at six.
The turtles are kind and quiet.
They don’t beg to be fed,
So most weeks I sneak them an extra ration.
Change the water. Clean the tank and don’t forget their delicious morsels.
Fish are divas and dir if they aren’t treated with specific care.
The guineas ate quite literally pigs and begin impressive dialog the minute they see you coming-
They don’t want love or attention. They want food. And they want it now.
The children won’t wake with the crows, but the minute they rise they won’t hesitate to let you know-
They want want what everyone else has already been given.
And the husband, well he just wants coffee in his hand.
I never wanted a farm.
And yet here I am with a menagerie of animals
I’m not sure I ever really wanted.
What am I to do?
Can I move?
Before – Hour 7
I remember
The last breath of unfiltered air
On a cool evening
I stopped and raised my hands in the air
And filled my lungs as much as I could
I remember
Trying to hold that breath
Because words cannot explain
How pure and wholesome
How refreshing
Had I known
I’d have held on a little longer
Because now the air is polluted
With an incurable virus
And to breath this filtered air
Has become the new normal
Hour 7 – Contrast
Be a burst of yellow,
or an eruption of mauve or a flaming red
in the sea of beige that
swallows all.
Dare to be happy
unabashed in your bliss,
celebrate, rejoice, scream with joy,
refuse to let the world paint
your walls, instead
take buckets of the brightest
hues you can find
and splash them on your door
and you’ll see
the miracles that tiny specks
Stand proud, laugh and keep on
adding tints of uniqueness
in the lifeless grinds
that envelope us.
Level The Tide
Storms blow and disappear
The atmosphere absords in fear
She exhales fear into tears
It is cool with long threads
And tames the old man’s rest
Your 10
Body like plywood pushed through a press
mind as empty as the cavity of the sky
(and there aren’t even stars)
bent knee to all things
because the Bible says so
I wish you’d stand up
and
fill your mind with heresy
and
be less of a philistine
footstool
more of a boot
on their throat
The Man in the Hallway
The Man in the Hallway
They never found you.
I don’t know if you’re still alive or not,
but you live inside me, even today.
You are only one of many
men in hallways who have hurt me,
but I remember you most.
It is extremely expensive
to be a victim, all the moving around,
trying to find a place which feels
like home, the specialized therapy
for decades, psychiatric meds
piling up in numbers, but I’m still not
numb.
Scattered
Joan says, I’ve been a little scattered lately,
you have likely felt the same. Endless
possibilities are not always a virtue,
All the natal charts, tarot cards, and
oracles are of little help today.
But your body knows, your breath
will tell you that you don’t need to decide,
Ace of wands, eight of pentacles,
you have likely felt the same.
Retail (a cethramtu rannaigechta moire)
To all who
live must sell
to earn rent
and must tell
all who buy
what angels
are they to
heed the call:
Do value
your own mind;
let them clothe
their own hinds.