The Poetry Marathon

Diaspora, Hour Twelve

Diaspora

Our family is a Viking horde,
descended from hardy Swedes and Norwegians
amid a colorful range of other backgrounds.

Fifty to one hundred people we consider family
have gathered together around a pool every 4th of July
thirty-six of the last thirty-seven years, excluding 2020.

Coming together every year and reacquainting ourselves
with each other’s lives is a renewal to me, a touchstone
for my at times lonely heart to caress.

Some years I haven’t personally attended, some years others could not,
but when we did, the connection sustained.
Losing even the option to gather in 2020 was devastating.

Our family’s personal diaspora from its beginnings in Indiana,
our travels to far corners of the world continues in each passing year,
but always we return, strengthened, and look forward to the future together.

Gathering of theSister Creatives.

Sister Creatives.

The sister creatives have gathered in my heart.

Friends and strangers who give voice to Beauty andHope.

Women who hear the universal call

in these troubled times to notice out loud

as it threads itself in golden connections

linking the deepest groaning of the spirit.

Women who yell and  whisper the quiet things into being.

 

Love the tribal wisdom humbly passed from generation to generation.

 

The collectors of heart tears ready to replenish and re-water the thirsty roots.

 

Tribal fingers that touch fingertips through the darkness.

and the continued nurturing of the Sisters who  help me celebrate the rose petals of my life that continue to unfold.

 

 

that one 4th of july

you remember the one. at ricci’s in brooklyn

so fucking fun. with everyone you knew and liked

laughter, gossip, cold beer, chill hiphop we

knew every single word to. gorgeous weather

card games, barbecue, pot brownies galore

and you went alone but that moment he arrived

you lit up and said “i’m so happy to see you”

and kissed him so sweetly. what a beautiful day

you’ll chase that feeling forever

12. Gatherings post pandemic

Lockdowns and restrictions are rescinded,

gatherings are now permitted,

as the pandemic marches towards a decline,

with family and friends, we can now recline.

 

But wait!!!!

My mind is in anguished debate!

Am I ready for a forward surge?

From my cocoon to emerge?

To shed my safety covering ,

like a social butterfly, to be fluttering.

 

I will venture out, once again.

But before the worldly gatherings conspire to seduce,

at least let me enjoy, one more day to be a recluse!

In the Rooms, Women Come and Go – hour 12

Hour 12, Prompt 12

 

In the Rooms, Women Come and Go

 

Betty’s machine-gun laugh rat-a-tat-tats from the far corner where the hostess positioned her

Attempting to soften the gunfire with the plethora of ornament-themed throw pillows and expensive red rugs between the shrapnel and the refined guests

Someone I’ve never seen at one of these soirees offers to take Betty out to the patio

But a professor of minerology points to the ceramic tiles and drones about acoustics, reverberation, something about echo off the snow

 

Waiters in their tuxedoes with matching red facemasks and cummerbunds clink wine glasses against silver trays more loudly,

As if this will cover the lack of cultivation coming from the corner

 

Fancy women come and go, don’t you know

 

From my perch near the white grand piano, where a hired musician currently tickles a much-too-slow version of “Merry Christmas, Darling,” I accept from one penguin’s tray a waffle-cone cracker with a dollop of cream cheese and peach slice

Do I dare to eat this?

At least my trousers aren’t rolled

I know my hair is thinner than it used to be and my days among this society are numbered

 

My amusement heightened, I click across the marble floor, avoiding the pricy rugs of dubious material and introduce myself to Betty

 

“Chahhmed, I’m sure,” she says

 

“You know why Monique’s tree reminds me of a priest?”

 

Betty blinks her lush lashes at me, swishing her martini with its peppermint stick

“What? Why?”

 

“Its balls are just for decoration.”

 

With her head thrown back dramatically, Betty’s machine-gun fire erupts again

 

Fancy women come and go, don’t you know

 

Life Cycles

We stayed in Seattle for 2 months when my husband had his stem-cell transplant. Our building was owned and operated by the cancer center for that purpose. We could walk to the clinic and to grocery stores. The building was across the street from a transitional housing building, which often had some lively goings-on at night. One afternoon, after the day’s medical appointments, a peregrine falcon landed on the roof directly across from our apartment. It had its dinner in its claws, a nice, fat pigeon. It landed on a square metal plate, a tidy place to devour its prey. It felt very companionable to be there, at the window, watching it expertly dismantle its meal.

sidewalk swales
built by the city
purify
rainwater before
it enters the bay

New Rules

We can no longer take for granted

the effortless gatherings we enjoyed pre-COVID.

 

We may never have that ease again;

truly, probably should not have that ease again.

 

How foolish we would be

to refuse to learn the lessons

taught by a disease that has claimed

so many of us so painfully and sorrowfully.

 

Things change.

Sometimes we don’t like the changes.

Let’s all just get over ourselves

and do what we can to keep ourselves and others healthy.

Just wear the mask when asked to.

 

12 Point of Origin

12      Point of Origin

 

Adopted finding new brothers and sisters

DNA speaks of Sicily and ancestors who

Ventured across the sea to a place called

Brooklyn with collections of their folk

 

Beautiful men and one being a father

Who I will never meet or see his

Good-looking glance that belongs to me and

My children in places around the eyes

 

I will never hear his voice though

I imagine my new brother sounds

Similar to that man who held my mother

Once upon a time near Brooklyn

 

There is no story to tell or know

How this comely young girl found herself

A handsome soldier beyond Italy’s shores

Long enough to make me

 

Zoom Poetry–Hour 12

Melinda, your mic is off

Lisa, would you aim your camera so we can see your whole face?

This is how I want it

I’m hiding out

Do I go now? Who’s next?

I’m just listening today

Gwen, you’re muted

No, Hawaii doesn’t do Daylight Savings Time

Manny, can you hear us?

Robin, do you have a poem for us?

Renee, you’re muted

I’m not wearing pants

What time is it there?

Where’d Melinda go?

Who would like to share?

Skylar, are you really here?

I thought we were starting at 5.

 

 

 

 

Hour 12 : Pride

Pride

A rolling thunder,

a million voices today,

everyone a flame

ready to set fire to

the very last frozen hearts.