24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hour 6
Windows, looking back
Windows, looking back
I wonder if they are two-way.
Now from the outside, the
Drapes drawn heavy
Only obscure the
View within.
Looking back I can
Observe what passed inside
Only I did not grasp what
Keeping truth of me meant.
I had to walk away.
Now in the today I am
Going on ahead.
Backwards thinking is
A trip I won’t make I
Can I go to that place but just
Keep on and don’t look back.
To share your knowledge amongst learners,
Equipped for success,
Accomplishing small feats,
Cause they are bigger than the bigger picture,
Helpless feelings at times,
Everyone can succeed,
Responsible for nurturing respectful students.
I heard the stories
Throughout my childhood
Whenever I asked about the pensive portrait
Hanging on grandmother’s wall
A cacophony of conflicting legends and lies
Influenced by the character of the griot
Aunt Iccie was a missionary
Or a spinster teacher
Who died in Africa
Eaten by wild lions
Or heathen cannibals
So there was no body to bury
No sacred ceremony
No mourning
No homegoing
I found the official
documents
Filling in the blanks
Bridging the chasms
Of mystery and myth
I found Aunt Iccie who
taught at a mission school
In Liberia
Where she died in childbirth
her husband by her side
No one could afford the cost
of shipping a body home
to Mississippi
So they buried her there
Celebrating her life
according to local custom
I imagine Aunt Iccie resting in Africa
welcomed by the ancestors
at peace
at home
Shyness is not something unfamiliar to me
It isn’t easy talking to people new
And if you knew me, you’d see
Before you say my name,
let me tell you how much
I love your new haircut,
and I agree with you
that farting in bed,
especially in winter
and you let me under the big cover,
is BAD.
And, I love you
so much I let you be
the bigger person here.
I didn’t bark
as if to say, “What? Why are you home
so early?”
I just looked at you
square in the eye
to let you know how much
I deserve to be told
to get off the table
(even though it is
a much better vantage point
to keep guard over that back window)
and because I love the sound of
your voice. Especially
when you say my name,
or the word “treats.”
If my love is enough
for you,
then you’ll just wipe
off the table
and let me sleep in your lap
while you watch
Stranger Things.
14 Colored Pencils
You see I am not alone
I know you’re out there
You who cannot resist
A box of colored pencils
Matter not how many you have
There is always recognition
That more will be better
Though many see no daylight
Art supply support groups
I will join but not yet
I am not ready to stop
This madness that feels good
It is the idea of it
Hoping to be a creative
Though never commencing
The act of pencil to paper
And Oh, the paper!
Don’t get me started
When I pass my children
Will divvy up the spoils
Started off with me pulling at my hair roots,
Cursing my friend for asking me to watch it,
Head strong and arrogant protagonists,
Irritating slowly gave way to endearing,
Time was all it needed to grow on me,
Till I couldn’t go long periods without it,
Simply the best sitcom I’ve seen.
Consistently dealing with difficult issues,
Reaching out to play my heart strings,
Entertaining me but giving me a safe space to,
Experience everything on the screen,
Kaleidoscopic in the many emotions it made me feel…
Note: The poem is an acrostic poem in which the first letter (or syllable, or word) of each line (or paragraph, or other recurring feature in the text) spells out a word, message or the alphabet. The poem is on a sitcom called ‘Schitt’s Creek’. If you haven’t watched it, watch it.
Vocabulary of violence
is the trademark of
this repressive regime
Ban, proscribe,
arrest, jail,
maim, execute!
Freedom is a poisonous
snake aiming for the heart
Of the despot
Activism is treason
that lands you
in prison
Criticism is opposition
poisoning citizens’ minds
against the despot
But right inside the cabinet
a coup brews that will take
out the despot
TW: mention of suicide attempt, e/d and s/h
When I took my last overdose, I told my friend.
The one who lived with me.
The one who cooked for me when the thought of food sent me into a spiral.
The one who had been sacrificing her nights to sleep in my bed,
to make sure I was safe.
I guess it is sufficient to say, I was not.
I was not safe,
yet I don’t think I have ever been more cared about,
more looked after.
I miss our nights together,
it was bad but there was laughter.
Leaving you behind was the hardest thing I could do,
I love you to the moon and back but the moon was an egg
and it burst open so there was nowhere our love could lead us to.
Having you pin down my hands
was the most confronting thing you had to do.
I wanted you to know I was hurting myself under the blankets
but same-mindedly, did not want you to stop me from doing so.
So I guess it came as a relief, the day I called you to tell you
I am happy.
But to me, it was the end of a time
where you loved me more
than I loved life.
And it felt good to be wanted.
CW: pregnancy, miscarriage
Me Without You
Nine years later
we joke about how hard it was to pee on that stick.
How nervous it all made me
as 60 seconds turned into an eternity.
A popsicle sized piece of plastic told me our lives were changing.
We were 20 and not even close to thinking we were ready for this
yet we decided to take that chance.
Bet on ourselves, our love.
That decade I spent growing with you
made me a different person than I ever thought possible.
Watching something that is part of us
talk, grow, learn, take on some of your mannerisms,
was beyond my wildest dreams with you.
Except, that was all a dream.
My body rejected that dream.
Pain rippled through my body as our dream was ripped away.
My body screamed at us that we were not ready.
A decade out and I still miss you.
Mostly, I miss what we could have been.