24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I wish my life was as perfect
as that egg shell white umbrella
complements the perfectly placed
plants, Oh how I wish I could
perfectly place people in
my life to play perfect
father roles or perfect
best-friend roles but if that was to
happen all of the plants would be cracked and
jiggered and the eggshell white
umbrella splattered with blood
due to the constant battle with broken people.
Nice view.
I see the imprint of you on the white towel
above planks neatly squared off.
This would be where we last uttered our meanest words.
Nothing saved us from centuries of terrible curses and omens.
Our mothers even led us to the day
where both our chairs are completely
lonely and empty, the plants we tended
suffering the same fate.
The grey outside reflects the walls of social
injury, where nothing is quite what it appears to be.
The hedges hid our smug insurance of privacy
with bright green normality. We treasured those moments
that we now condemn. I remember your secret smile
as you turn away to stir your drink
with a small delicate finger. I clumsily clink my ice cubes
in a noisy semi-circle
interrupting our narcissistic thoughts briefly.
There are small beads of sweat on your forehead.
I believed it could go on forever.
Sopa de Hueso
I carry grief in my bones
Angry red and resigned yellow cells create healing in the marrow
Boil my bones and pain will seep out of its simmered confines
Leach out of the calcified webbing and create radiant strength
Angry red and resigned yellow cells create healing in the marrow
Drink deeply of the broth and you will sleep better, love longer, choose better
Calcified webbing yields, creates radiant strength
Drink deeply of the broth and you will sleep better, love longer, choose better
I carry grief in my bones
Ancestral sorrow woven into my joints
Boil my bones and pain will seep out of its simmered confines
© Davita Joie 2016
You can go no further; stop.
Blue granite, steep cliff, face, sharp chin.
Faded blaze hammered to tree trunk,
gravel scattered, the carving of water in earth.
Footfalls on griege and rough stone, unstable.
A wide pathway crumbles upon descent.
Turn back as night falls.
An hour of work in the vinyard yet remains.
This love we have is
Beautiful, warm, inviting, solid.
We’ve been through so much, you and I
We’ve journeyed to
Be together. You’ve been
My rock when I needed it the most
I lay my head on your chest
And listen to your heartbeat.
This is home. You are home for me.
You’ve protected me
From dangers seen and unseen
You’ve sheltered my secrets.
And safeguarded a love solely meant for you.
I lay my head on your chest.
And listen to your heartbeat.
I can rest easily, for I know that
No matter how terrible and ugly and chaotic and destructive
This world can be…you won’t break.
My chest begins to hurt
When I feel the love I have for you
You’re like the shelter from the storm, I am safe.
I feel light-hearted, worry-free, and genuinely at peace
When we are together.
Making love is not really what I think of, just the cuddle part
For I know that if we grow old together,
And you cannot get it up anymore and I can no longer get wet
Cuddling is all that we will do…
For this love we have is unconditional, suspended in time, and a breath of fresh air
It is the rest after a long day, it is a drink of water in the hot sun
It is a peace amidst a world of chaos…
It is a gentle shelter I call Home.
Hold this picture.
Dive in.
Be there.
Close my eyes and hear the sounds of the mountains
The splashing and laughter of the river
The breeze, always
Whispering and telling stories of times no one
but the mountains remember.
Breathe in
and bathe in
The clear, cool air so fresh
The fresh green scent of
pine and growing grass.
The sweetness of mountain wildflowers.
Shadows of clouds move across meadows.
Eagles glide over, hunting.
Deer step lightly and carefully.
Stretch out my arm,
Reach across the valley,
and touch them.
Lay down and sleep in a mountain meadow.
Wake renewed.
DEATH OF FLOWERS
sunbeams kiss
my window blinds
but
white lilies die while
traffic
fills
the interstate.
Even when we’re trying
To get closer to her
We build barriers
Put on shoes
Hide behind glass
Then caption pictures with
“Back to nature”
lost track
i know there’ll be talk
among the brotherhood
lots of peppy upbeat talk
(cos that the sort of
eternally optimistic
perpetually irritating
numnuts they all are)
of roads going ever on
& journeys of a 1000 miles
— but all it means to me
is yet another road to nowhere
this time alongside a river
& some less than grand mountains
most likely taking me
ever further away from you
even though i long ago
lost track of where you are
Peering Into the Abyss
When I was happy I loved high places, balconies and rooftops gave
a secret thrill, the Grand Canyon was an exquisite torment, a frisson
of thrilling danger grazed my nerves as I gazed over the edge. I
was a hawk searching out possible prey, an errant feather sliding
sideways on slipping air currents, irresistibly drawn to the fall,
seeing myself stepping over the edge and imagining the flying
freedom, a second-hand thrill, never to be enacted.
Later, when torn in tiny pieces and unable to pull together,
recalling childhood abuse, the death of my child, an
imploding marriage, clinical depression sank in its
claws and what had formerly thrilled then filled
me with terror, and there were no more
balconies for me. I took no mountain
hikes, my feet stayed firmly on
the ground, for I knew if I
dared to step up to
the abyss I would
at long last see
what it really
meant to
finally
freely
fall.
Tracy Plath