24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Minutes…hours…days…
months….
years….
since your lips brushed mine
splitting open the night
since your hand slid over rounded hips,
eased open moist thighs
since your fingers reached for the center
of everything
splintering starlight…
splashing joy on my soul
Rocking back and forth on the edge of a bed seemed childish and lacking patience,
Until I saw them all rocking through the doors, in the rooms to the west of mine.
Starting to understand why my world is not the only one,
He, who I knew, died while sleeping the night that I slept so well.
Until that next night came when the sun bowed out,
Sitting while rocking awake, thinking of He, who I knew.
Growing up, I was a storyteller, a writer, a poet. As a child, I read voraciously, encouraged by a mother who was an avid reader, and a house filled with myriad books. In the absence of siblings who I could play with, I spent hours reading, and dreaming up make-believe lands and imaginary friends. By the time I developed basic language skills, I began penning my thoughts on paper. It started with poems, then stories and articles, and then, finally an entire novel, published just as I graduated high school.
In college, my academic interests shifted to economics, and I now work in corporate strategy at a F500 company in San Francisco. I have found time off and on to feed my passion for writing. I was the Chief Online Editor for the Yale Globalist, a magazine covering international travel and politics, and at work, I use writing every day to build narratives using information. I am working on a second book on the side, but I often find it hard to find time.
Poetry was where I started writing, and it has always had a special place for me. I really enjoyed the Poetry Marathon when I did it in 2016, and I am looking forward to doing it again. My boyfriend and I are planning to do the second half marathon (we were not up in time for the first!), using the quiet of the night and several glutinous treats to keep us going. We can’t wait to get started in T+6.
Lightshine moisture rock, air full with petricor,
a linked birdsong which reminds of Thra and any tepetl,
the softly tune of tiring tires going from the road,
grateful tears about leaves in trees, dried out for summer
pending love in a tangling knot not embrace to life,
leaving cardenche inside this soul, spike that gets in heart,
a gutter going throun my nerves and veins shaking it all inside
another pea from the floor stays quiet in the earth.
Then, breaking the silence, you heard something intruding
¡Oí nomás ese cumbión bien perrolocochón!
Gahtering forces around languages trying to not lock but inleash,
so nature is into it and something will get their rythm by Saturn Day
A chance to be alive and breathing, this is the perfect day, it is today
I am a fool for you, fool for your brown eyes and beautiful smile. I bet that all of the guys would love to see the sunrise and see those beautiful brown eyes. Even when we small talk, starts the butterflies and I got hypnotized by you. I love your blue hair and I can be your teddy bear. From years ago, I didn’t have a shot but now I just want to give you the tender loving care and be your care bear. And from the first message that I sent you, I would still take you on that date if I was in your state
soft fur against my bare legs, barbed tongue cleans my calf
sheets pulled back, robe slipped on
quiet breathing
the whistle of water, spring of a toaster, sizzle of eggs, lemon, honey, caffeine, turn of a newspaper
writer’s almanac, daily poems, the scratch of a pencil, reading the news, view of the bay, crows, gulls, eagles, a great blue heron
lettuce, tomato, kalamata olives, cucumber, feta cheese, vinaigrette, cracked black pepper, fizzy water, snapchat to my daughter
closed eyes—soft fur on my pillow on my lap, soft music
shorts, socks, sneakers, t-shirt, backpack, book, notepad, pencil, iced-tea, sunglasses, hat,
10,000 steps, snapchats, a slug, bunny, deer, trees, flowers, kayaker, great blue heron, a log drifting, children laughing, holding hands
closed eyes, shower, soft music,
sizzling onions, garlic, bok choy, mushrooms, broccoli, ginger, coconut milk, curry paste, tofu, cilantro, lime, brown rice, red wine
French movie, holding hands, rubbing feet, sunset, games with friends
reading, writing, candle, bourbon,
robe slipped off, sheets pulled up, soft fur nearby, goodnight kiss, dreams
Warm puppy head rests on her neck
Almost planned they sigh in unison
She reaches to slide a free hand
Down fawn-colored baby fur
They will sleep until dark when
Stars shine without human challenge
A quick late walk outside for relief
Beneath a Universe of wonder
A slow morning allows more time
To understand each other
Lost and Redemption of a Life Ann WJ White Awakening the morning, waiting for it to rise, I follow a small tortiseshelled cat to her breakfast, carefully apportioned puree of chicken served on a glass dish, glistening. She is the reason for rising, for dancing, for singing a song of the past. For when she has fed, her dreams begin to scatter the dreams I failed to dream. She chases them, rounding them up, toying with them, until I sigh with frustration and join her. There are no appointments, not this time. No eyes to watch, no tasks to be designated to me. Here the clouds fill the sky with tale strong clouds, bright blue sky, and the sun at the right angle to tease the flowers into bloom. We sit, the two of us, talking of birds, frogs and small skinks. The outside walks past us, children riding scooters, Strollers, bikes, and the others in the neighborhood who share patience for time to pass. The phone is silent. The TV ignored. Paints stand near a canvas, looking coy. Books are everywhere, Each shouting an advertisement until one is lifted and the cover opened. Sinking into a soft couch with Cat sitting on my chest, we read together. She purrs. Time passes. The paints trip me when I find a need to rise. It is their turn, and spill out like the flowers in my front bed. An orange is peeled and insanity seeks my attention. A wishy cloud of something takes form. A woods, a water, a story, it spins around. It stands upside down on its canvass, shouting "Try this now, or this, be upside down and see." And I do see, a conglomeration fantasy. The brushes move faster and faster until it is lunch. A simple day, a simple sandwich, hardly a mind set to enjoy it before it is gone. Wandering upstairs, I pause to nap. Seeking the dreams from long ago, the memories pass. Stirring against boredom, Cat bites my eyebrows and sets me back upon my path. Mysteriously, the laundry has vanished. Something is standing outside of time. I take the drugs upon the table, and go out. A camera hangs from a strap as Cat pushes the door shut. So I wander, down to the swampy park, there to find a pair of beaver, small fish frolicking over bits of broken branches, drowned grass, and an old "No Dumping" sign. The heron pause and watch the water, fishing intensively. Crows mock me, small sparrows chirp and clean their nesting spots. I am alone here. This is not reality. My life does not move in smooth lines without contrasts and complications. Never. Walking back, I hear voices calling out for ice cream. I shrug past them. My heart echoes with empty thoughts, but no drive. There is banging coming from inside my house. The parallel emptiness has been invaded with cause. I turn and walk away, quickly, with agitation. But stop, when a dear friend sees me. She is alone, surrounded by time, pandemics, busy children lost to work. It is her smile that captures me, her love, her open life as she moves one foot after another. The chat fills time, and somehow valued by me. I plan a surprise cake. Turning back to my home, the cat has gotten out on the roof. She's howling madly, annoyed that I have forgotten my duty, It is time to feed the cat, again, the same as it all is. Now it is all different. Sound, industry, purring and yowling. Entering the house, my son kneels in the hallway, building a wooden floor as I have always wanted. My daughter is scrubbing bathrooms. My husband has taken his father out to walk, A break from my resentment of the old man. And the phone rings, unmerciful it screams for attention. Stops and begins again. There is an ethereal sense to it, this hounding. This is not right, all out of place, purpose confused. I answer the phone and my life changes. A moment of spinning choice and test results. The voice is brisk, businesslike, full of details. The answers my brain did not want to comprehend at my last appoints. The words burn themselves into my flesh. "We've make a mistake. Your heart is continuing to fight the stenosis that binds you. The surgery will not be needed for another ten or fifteen years. Your neurologist called me and said your Multiple Sclerosis is stable, and well controlled." When I pause in shock and don't respond, he bides me to ask, but my is feeling again with emotions. Tears from, and he bides me get a cool drink. Sit down. Call him back when the questions arise. But I am already pushing my way to my children, explaining, hopefully. Hugs surround me and my husband arrives. "I'm going to live, a good long time." All of the horror that sat in my subnormal has left for others. My husband swings me around and joins the children in celebration. Plans are made, dinner out at a place where lingering and talking is imminent, a movie to follow. Suddenly the fog and distance are gone. My confusion is gone. The Cat smiles in her strange cat fashion and warms my soul.
Excitement throbs within.
The airport is full,
Yet no one coughs
And everyone is smiling.
I walk on, just grinning as I make my way through the crowds.
Surprise, elation as I’m upgraded to first class at no charge.
They’ve overbooked.
A pleasant, older man who smells of sandalwood and cedar sits by the window,
His thick, silver-streaked dark hair and laugh lines at the corners of twinkling eyes and knowing smile are enchanting.
Hours pass in laughter and deep conversation that swells as frequently as the waves of the Pacific.
Passions shared, generosity extended alights my mind, my heart –
And the only payment he wishes is the brightness of my smile.
The sun is bright and the air is crystalline when we arrive to the coast.
We walk through the terminal like old friends, my hand tucked under his elbow;
I’m beaming, charmed, astounded.
He describes the nuances in Italian wines and my palate lusts for dark chocolate and cherry.
That resonant, rippling chuckle spills as generously as the wine he promises.
But not tonight, I regretfully decline, accepted with easy grace.
Tonight, my mind is set alight with rainbows:
With ice-blue eyes,
With swirls and sharp edges,
With a mind as vibrant as it is gentle.
For what is worth, I woke on the good side of my bed
My spines felt impulses and the brain knew
The dusk spells out fog
Like a tobacco weed elongating my sleep
My hand spread out to the silky touch of the sheet
Breathing in the fresh taste of brewed caffeine
My sight are cleansed with the brightness of the sun
Off I jumped on the lacy pant of my wooly coat
With a glance to my window
A beautiful white flake on a free ledge
On my couch, I sat
My coffee on right
My remote on left
Ready for a Netflix battle
It screams Stranger things
it’s gonna be a jollyday.