24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
You, the bookworm,
You, the nature lover, You, the animal mom.
You, the sensitive,
You, the shy kid, You, the fearful one.
You, writing in your journal
You, playing in the woods
You, singing your songs…
I hear you —
I care about you —
I love you —
And you are perfect, Dee Dee,
just the way you are
and just the way
you will always be.
Love,
Diane
Dear Former Self
Its been a long time since we spoke
But now the time has come to work on letting go
I been working to get us past the past
To release judgments and anger and collected hurts
the broken promises from self and others
I will make sure you are safe and protected
I will show compassion when you are feeling neglected
I will open you up, bring light to your wounds
that have festered and been infected
The time has come to heal
We have to stop bottling up and allow us to feel
No more fake smiles to hide pain
Your journey to healing will not be in vain
We will get through this former self, I know
It time for us to release all that hinders us and grow
You’re gonna see some shit
Do some things not worth remembering, but you will
Trust me, though.
It’ll be worth it
You you’ll meet her
(No not her; pay attention)
After some trying times and nearly lethal moments
You’ll wish for death and hope for relief
And you’ll find it, but not when you should
You’ll meet her
(No, not her either; focus)
At the moment you think it can never get better
But it will
She’ll make sure of it.
(No, not her; she breaks you like the others)
Ask her name first, though.
It’ll be better than what you did say
Trust me, it’s not worth repeating
Just remember, she’s hurting, too.
(Yes, her.)
You can’t be like you were with the others
You have to really work at this, cause she’s you
(Yes, her. I’m sure)
You have to show her you’re worthy
You have to let go of your fears
Because she’s afraid, too.
She’ll demand from you, what the others never understood
Cause they never really cared to consider you.
She will.
She does.
Every day.
I have to tell you, though.
There will be pain
And it will hurt
There will be blood
There will be words, you’ll regret and will shoulder for years to come
Just remember, her name is Joanie.
Restless but free
The road now lies almost evenly
Behind and ahead
My tired limbs know not to cease
The Bigs are Coming to Town
Virginia Carraway Stark
Bigs come
When they come to town
They move the streets
They turn the dumpsters upside down
They put in DUMBS
They do as they please
because
They’re Bigs
And they do as they please
Rewrite scripts
Make monsters where they will
If you tell anyone you saw them
No one will believe you
Because they are the Bigs
And it’s best just to Deny
Every Little you see knows it’s best
If they see a Big
To just turn and walk the other way
If a Big asks you a question
You best tell them the truth
Then forget they asked you
Or they’ll do worse than tell on you
Here’s a secret the Bigs
Want everyone to know
And that’s that
Even when they aren’t in town
And you don’t see them
They will always see you
If you see a man or woman
With a knowing gleam
In their eye
They could look like their homeless
Or they could look like they work
For the FBI
They could look like your mom or dad
They could be anyone at all
They could look like your best friend
All grown up
They could even look like you or I
They’re the Bigs
They put in tunnels everywhere
And cameras too
You don’t have to be paranoid
Because they will know whatever they want to know
And dismiss the things that doesn’t matter to them
Or eradicate anything that gets in their way
The Bigs come to town
They’re watching at the cinema
They’re watching at the street lights too
They watch you in the elevator
They see you in every camera’s gleaming eye
The Bigs are always in town
They come by gleaming car
They come by shining jet
They come by things that hover
And we are very sure
I will swear
Do not exist yet!
It floats in the dishwater
like the eyeball of some
great beast, watching me
through grease & soap suds.
my grandmother is saying
something about the rain,
worrying about the nearby
farmers & the price of corn
in the coming months,
but all I can think about
is the children living behind
chickenwire, sleeping on
concrete floors. When I used
to stay the night, my grandmother
would bring in extra pillows
& lay down beside me until
I fell asleep, though my mother
was only thirty miles away,
though I had never gone
a night without a goodnight
kiss, my favorite stuffed
animal. What would she say
to a Syrian child crying for
their mother? Could she look
that child in the eye and call them
vermin, say that it doesn’t matter
if their home is in the belly
of a bombshell, that they
will find no safety here?
Or would she hold that crying
child & hum until they fell
asleep, put them to bed
in the guest room, line
the mattress with pillows
to protect them even as
they slept? the mug turns
in the grimy water & I wonder
how many grandparents had mugs
with swastikas that spun
quietly in the sink while they
talked about the price of corn
& if it looked like rain again,
never about what makes one child
more human than another.
An essence
Nomadic it shifts
Filling this echoing cavity
The hallows of hallowed bone
Meaning to movement
Intention to itinerant instincts
A higher form of self
Or is it?
Created of me
Alive within
An atmospheric shift
It rises up recalcitrant
Drawing up indomitable
A conflagration ready
To set the world ablaze
Image courtesy of 9Gans at Pixabay
Dear Former Me
I would just like to let you know that
you have eventually left
the abuser that nearly destroyed you.
For what it’s worth: you have regained
What you have lost: yourself
You’re still working on a few things, though,
but you’re getting there.
What you wanted most of all, to get a dog again
Has been accomplished.
And she’s the cutest little thing on four legs…
Guess what: your dream of being
a freelance writer is also being fulfilled.
Just a little more work,
And you will be where you’ve always wanted to be
Your son (my son) is married and has a daughter.
A few minor things can be improved in his life
But step by step, he’s getting there…
We’re not doing too bad, you and I
and right now you’re participating
in a Poetry Marathon…
Something your abuser said you couldn’t do…
Take care (I know you will)
From “The future you”
Antoinette LeRoux © 2019
Dear Cheetah, age 7,
I hope you are fine. Really and truly fine, not the fake fine we learned to tell mom and dad when they asked, “What was the trouble? Why aren’t you sleeping?” I writing you today to tell you that that you are amazing and you are safe. Don’t be scared. I know it isn’t easy to sleep, but don’t scare yourself You are fine. Isn’t it funny how protected you are in your innocence? I was telling Mom just the other day - she’s older that Grandma now, by the way - I told her about all of the neighbors that used to give you candy, so you didn’t have to cross the street to go to the store. They let the whole neighborhood play in their yards. Why, without fences, it was hard to tell where one yard ended and the next one started. And they didn’t care. I wanted to write to you and tell you that you jump farther from the swings than anyone can. That’s why Mr. Gulleckson called you Cheetah. I guess you looked like a cat to him. Don’t be so hard on yourself and if you could, please practice being on time so you aren’t grounded your entire fourth grade year. Take care of yourself, Laurie, Cheetah no longer PS write back soon!
Yesterme, both friend and foe.
How I hate and love you so.
Hate you for mistakes you’ve made.
Love you when the truth you’ve paid.
Retrospectively, I see,
What a being you’ve made of me.
Yesterme, I’ll have you know,
I have seen your private show—
Every dark thought you have spawned
Every living thing, you’ve wronged.
Every good thing you’ve set free.
Times you’ve spent creating me.
Yesterme I can’t change you.
You’re not me; that much is true.
Now old Yesterme— I’m new!
Be content. Time makes us two.