The Poetry Marathon

2023 Poem Four

I Once Again Write About The Sky

I haven’t seen the stars in almost four months.

At least not ones that are actually in the sky above me in that moment.

Instead of I see miles of orange stretching across the horizon.

Not that delicious blood orange waves of

the sun tucking in for the night.

No, it’s that manufactured knock off of flames

covering the horizon until the sun returns again.

I’ve never gone this long without

the North Star pointing me home.

Too many people I don’t know can

see me surrounded by these streetlights and

I hear too many tires traveling across pavement.

It feels cruel that I can accidentally make eye contact with my neighbor

from each of our own living rooms yet

the universe gets hidden by an inventor long gone.

Marathoner

Running shoes is what I need now

Here is the footrace I’ve waited for.

Watch me on the marathon of your favorite

Investing time and energy –

I’ll have the great force to push the door open.

Whether it is a long or short-distance running

I’m ready to make the ground running.

Hour 18

after the storm
an eerie silence
in the birdhouse

Tainted Roots

Every time I begin to write about my ancestors I end up empty.

I appreciate the skills they’ve passed down.

I have their strong hands,

catered for creation,

I know the history of their endurance

But their silence came at cost:

the trauma guided them,

the privilege enabled them,

the blood elevated them.

The greatest burdens they’ve left me either drip in malignant pride

or a willing ignorance of a devastating magnitude.

(Hour 20)

 

 

Sterilization was the Plan

Sterilization was the Plan

Natasha Romanoff.

You know that name,

the spy from Marvel.

 

She saw herself as a monster

because she was sterilized.

 

The question is:

Did you know

Indigenous females

were also sterilized?

 

The brown skin,

black hair,

“foreign” language

and pagan beliefs

were not ideal.

 

Native Americans

were still seen as “dirt”

and the less there were

the better it was.

 

Paper ads tricked

soon to be mothers

and females to gather

for free screenings.

 

The staff looked at them

as heathens, disgusting creatures

that needs to wiped off the planet.

Procedures without consent happened.

 

Thousands of Native ladies

were no longer “women”.

They were now sterilized

and could not bare children.

 

Future torch bearers

for our cultures were

whisked away in mere seconds.

Hour 19

Rakshabandhan
the blue moon smiles
in a saffron sky

23~9

blueness

surrounds

them

and yet

they dance

in it

together

Jump 21 Street

Running.

What a stupid thing to do.

Why run.

We can walk. We can talk.

I am talking through writing right now.

Running my mouth.

It’s a stunning type of running

Like YOU running thru my mind,

And by you, I meant her.

Running shit up in this bitch!

Though I’m poor as poor peoples pornos

Poor nose.

Pour knodes for all the folks here.

I am running on coffee and coke.

The type that you drink

not the type that you smoke.

 

Running.

Like John Depp

on 21 jump street.

Running. Marathons.

Paraphrase a paradox.

Running-in,

Do a beer-run,

Run-outs at Circle K’s

With 18 packs.

My aching hands

Aching feet . . .

Aching

Breaking

from all this

Running.

 

 

 

 

 

Poem 21

Running, bounding, so far away

Under sunset haze so orangey thick leaking

Nectar purple so deep

Not once thinking of the consequences of

Inviting such soulful freedom

Never before been felt. I

Gave and I gave and I gave.

 

Grating haggard pulse I think I can—

not stop the momentum of my

Insular hyperfocus on my 

Not destination and my 

No troubles. I let my selfishness

Usurp any feelings of guilt for continuing to

Run, running, running.

Hour 21: My Sunshine

I used to think

I took nothing from you

And it wasn’t until recently

That I realized

There is so much that we share

 

Like a loud, wonderful laugh

And round, soft cheeks

And loopy, scrawling letters

And the unavoidable curse

To experience emotions

At a loud volume

 

You once told me I was the sun

But I may actually just be the moon

Reflecting back your glorious light