24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Yes, of course
Well, sometimes
But also no,
never at all
I’m tired of faking the smile,
Of pretending and eggshell-walking over your
Quarter-century of doing the easiest
While I suffer the consequences on the other side
So no, I’m foul
Almost always
And every of the time
But yeah, I’m okay
(Hour 12)
Even though I’m talking to you, Moon…do I believe you are listening?
***
I am between relying on a planet and a moon right now…Neptune is a runner up,
***
though pretty hard to pin down. Like you, so watery and sort of ADD when it comes to clarifying my path.
***
I don’t go for celestial bodies that keep me in the dark. This darkdeepvastswimmyplace energy has followed me my entire life. I curse it. Sorry to be rude!
***
I’ve been known to be swimmy too.
***
I know I ask you, Moon, for answers, then change the question. How can I expect you to answer?
The downstairs closet is our haven,
When storms blow fiercely through the town.
When the sirens sound so loudly,
It’s time to hunker down.
Thankfully my fur babies,
Like to follow me all the time.
We wait it out together, until things are clear and fine.
Giants never walked the earth
Giants never breathed the air
Giants never ate of the land
Giants never drank the lakes
Giants built the earth
Giants compressed the air
Giants served the land
Giants collected the snow
We are ants
Living on the shoulders
Of giants
The smallest I’ve ever felt
Was standing beneath
The world’s tallest trees
There is something innately humbling
About seeing a being
That has lived hundreds of years before you
And will live hundreds after you’re gone
I told someone once
That I hope I am reincarnated as a redwood one day
So the world can spin around me
While I watch
As a guardian of the fog
All things end
In the end
Time moves on
In the end
All things change
Life moves on
All things change
Such is life
So we grow
Closet
In the closet,
She dreams of escape,
Snow covered lamp-posts
And talking fauns.
She dreams of hiding
In fur coats,
Burrowing deep into warmth.
In the closet
She is her real self,
Free and brave and strong.
In the closet,
She is safe.
Don’t throw away those
stale slices of squashed bread
still in their plastic sleeve
squeezed into the breadbox
I’ve merged three loaves and
When I have a few more slices
I’ll check for mold and
Cut rectangles across the rest and
Dip them in a butter bath
infused with minced garlic
The oven will bake them
For snacks (not croutons!)
Chased by sweet lemonade and
We’ll remember
Before Bernice died
In her 96th year
She taught us
To not give up
on what may seem stale and
of no possible use.
There are still tasty treats and the sweet life
even in someone else’s trash
When we share the bread —
a holy communion of laughter — with
each piece a Bernice story
We remember together her garden
that only blooms in our memory
Her ceramics we can hold and
touch, reminding us
how warm and full of life she was
We are consumed with the laughs and memories
As we remind ourselves of her strength
and our weakness
How she climbed 3-foot snow banks
while we searched to find an easier way
The time she was 90 and
we worried when she didn’t show up
when she was expected and
discovered after she finally arrived that
she’d climbed atop the garage
To retrieve what had fallen there and
put it to use
before someone threw it away
On Thursday I had a strange dream
The trees and gardens were in the sky
All houses and streets were upside down.
The rivers were flowing on the earth so high
The oceans were glittering and glowing
With high waves and foamy waters flowing.
I sat in bed and looked outside
If this was really true but what would happen
If the sky was below our feet and we were
Hung in the sky? The law of gravity
Should apply and then sun will kiss our feet
We will be all hung upside down and never
The twain shall meet! I am going potty now
It is time to catch up my sleep!!
I would crawl into it
to get away from the world
all its noises and lights
I’d pull the door shut
tight behind me
slide the clothes aside
bury myself behind them
tucked into the dark
my breathing slowing
sometimes I’d hear
my mother come calling
hear her walk into the room
I stayed still and quiet
holding my breath
until she left
then I would exhale
unfurl myself and return
as though I had never been away
[Prompt Twelve: closet]