POEM A DAY 2019

Until next time

Time to march towards next year.
I was waiting to begin, as I always do.
And now the wait is over, and such
is my great privilege.
I heard on the radio that some
do not march toward the next year,
live only in the present, and that
is the wedge against happiness.
Isn't it funny, the appeal
of deprivation.
Well, I'll tell you what
it makes me mad!
To think a life could be so hard
that one might not have the room
to say "this year blank verse but
next year, finally, a villanelle!"
I heard this on the radio,
such horror, and here I am
becoming middle-aged. Or not? Well,
I experience changes at last,
and see the gift in it,
and wish it for all my kin
and all their kin, and all
they've ever known or seen
forever, and ever, Amen.

Analysis

Poverty's patron saint
is lining the floorboards with pennies.
insulation, protection, prayer
they drop into coffers below

In Harare, there was no more bread.
Shmica needs three dollars for a loaf.
She follows me through the apartment
fishing for quarters in jars.

Skills, risks and pleasures,
Hollibaugh gained from her
working class life. Shmica says
The lights will be on tomorrow
Okay, I am sitting up here.
Glowing screen, gripping plastic.

the ins & outs

squall or no squall
i'm all for you
teeth or no teeth
there is a difference
but still
i'm on your side
i'm loving the shape of your gums
i wish you still had teeth
and yet
here you are
and can i just stop
like that
with how things are between us?

merged

let's lace our letters together
zigzagged through time
a love story told
on m&m wrappers
and photocopies
tied together with a string
plucked from the sidewalk
it had merged with

BLOODLINE

MINISTERING ANGEL

RUSH HOUR RADIO

Upstairs, living like a queen

Jacques knocking at the screen door and
I'm cooking, mustard seeds popping in the pan
Can we plug in here?
Get paid on Friday
Jacque's shifting in the shadows
Sharp sizzle. Burnt mustard.
I turn--grab the cord.
Singe.

Ochsner Primary Care Center

 EARLY DETECTION
stay vigilant, stay a
sentry of rumbles
guard at the border of every
twist, every twinge
betrayal is common
and can be deadly.

WAITING ROOM
what did you look like
when you were well?
are you well now?
am i overreacting?

PHYSICIAN'S ASSISTANT
a woman in blue comes out
to call Mr. Sims.
she is wearing a tiara.
her arms and legs push
push at, against the blue
nestle and slide across eachother
she is loving the swell of her body.
 

Mediation

Arizona

Marie's hair is a parade
white catching up to pink
tumbling on brown.
Pulled back, the years of
squinting into windshields
are raked into her cheeks:
'14 a day is alright, if you gotta.'
Marie turns Arizona over
and around in her mouth.
'I'd've quit the circuit years ago
if it weren't for Arizona.'
All that coffee. That sky.

instagram selfie, plagiarized.

Is it me? 
Am I he? 
Is life slop? 
Is trash soup? 
Is soup life? 
Soup slop lief lop?

Galaxy Bar

thick tonic
thin wine
fists ricochet the table.

drunk poem #1

used loosely
get over it or
i did it so     so tired
siempre
siempre
cansada.

i forget that i love to be touched

Jorge flicks the top of my arm every now and then to make a point
Hilary nuzzles into my chest when we find each other in the big room.
Sarah writes to ask how my neck is doing, meets my vulnerability with care
touches through screens the ache of my body.

data model

o little metadata person

#3

poop

i love poop
poop makes everything possible
everybody poops
at summer camp
we pooped in groups
sitting next to friends
as it should be
i love a good communal poop
chatting and giggling
as each poop plops below
even the word poop
i love
laughing about poop
and talking about pooping
i love that too
i pooped next to my boyfriend
when i brought him to a wedding
and it was in that pooping moment
that i knew
he was a keeper

i want to write
but i don't have a pen
i want to write
but the screen hurts my eyes
i want to write
but i have to pee
i want to write
but i can't focus
i want to write
but i have no ideas
i want to write
but i'm hungry
i want to write
but i'd rather watch tv
i want to write
but it's time to go
i want to write
but i have more excuses

Professional development

Are You Mad at Me?

a flawless trap.

Good Morning, Marjorie

it's the world to me.

Trivandrum

2019: Get out when the time is right

20 years of resignation and then suddenly
it's over. The oven works again and
the whole time you said you couldn't
you could. At least that's what
they want you to think, THEM,
those that would shame your past
selves without congratulating the present.
The thing is, you really couldn't.
Even if you could. You
COULD stop screaming
for no reason, you COULD have never started
but what matters is
after some amount of time,
you did. Stop screaming.
No, YOU stop screaming. Right.
Now. Calm down. Ok, then
calm down when you can and
pretend it wasn't my idea, it
was yours. I know it was yours
20 years ago the oven stopped
regulating heat which is different
from breaking, in a way. It always
had the heat it just went too far,
it was a campfire. So for 20
years you have a non-working
working thing and you adjust,
and isn't that what it's all about?
I'm constantly screaming but I've
muffled my mouth so am I not
an adaptive, uniquely human
creature? Won't I survive the apocalypse
because I was raised to not worry too much
when things break (although otherwise yes,
to worry too much). Won't I survive
because unlike THEM I
just give up until it's time to change?
And then it's like there was no time
at all?

#2

oh, uh, i didn't do it?
a core thing to learn about myself is
i think i will but then i won't but you know
still right now i'm like
well ok in the next 2 days i can do
one each for each person all poems are ever for
myself! and the high school buddies
you know
like it's going to be one
and now i can't be cagey that it's just about what
i've been thinking about myself lately and how much i <3 you

At sea

—-

I can picture looking back
On these days
Wistfully

Indigestion

Recalibrating Sentence Test

Friends, I'm home.
Reclined with blanket.
Cold and old and quiet.
Friends, I rode the train.
An act of decadence.
I eat whatever I please.
Strong and smart and tall.
I see a friend on the landing.
She is breathing.
Friends, forgive my absence.
There will be more.
I have lost all my resources.
I got lost in the woods.
I became simple.
I'm switching demographics.
It's busy work.
With no reward.
But blanket.

school marm

when you play the role of villain
sometimes
it’s hard for the audience
to separate
the real you
from the villain

Appropriation

HUNGRY

Working groups

It was time to put to bed
Some old ideas
Who were tired
But grasping at straws
For reasons to be let on
Rambling about.

We met at the kitchen table
To discuss strategy
And cadence.
We were hoping not to loose
sight
Of a shared goal.
In the end
Everyone left their tea cups on the table
For the host to tend to the next morning
And the meetings were on going
And the tired ideas were fighting
Hard as ever
But loosing their center
Unspooling
Towards a certain decline

(Feeling good)

Feeling good
Is good
Being good
Is better

Sometimes I can’t squeeze nuance
Onto a poem
Sometimes I find half eaten chocolates
 in my bag of pretzels.
A gift from myself
To myself
I am being good
To myself
But I hide the chocolates
In the dresser
Behind the towels
So I don’t have to share
Which is not good
And does not feel good
I am clawing around in the dark
Eating dark chocolate peanut butter cups
In the hallway

Dashing

I saw your husband today
but he was very preoccupied
with conversations about work
and when I saw him again I asked about your son
but he kept walking and didn’t respond
and his best friend and I stood in the stairwell
and laughed and joked that
he was too excited about work to think about family
And then his friend walked away too

Dye job

I dyed my hair blonde but it came out too brassy
so I put blue food coloring in it
and some of it is blonde and some is white or grey and some is kind of green and some is lavender and some is blue and some is the same

The urban village

The urban village
Is stretched thin
And far
The noodles start
As a white liquid
Ladled on to a sheet
We are spread out
And crammed in
We take turns hiding
In our rooms
Waiting for silence in
The kitchen.

More mantras

The idea of chanting is appealing to me 

Free will astrology

Communication Styles

The house style is truncated,
or rather I overelaborate,
I'm not trying to charm snakes,
seem like one myself,
but if I've wadded my talk,
to deceive the x-ray,
it's just that I'm always
trapped in pleasing or
it feels that this is
only a truer path
than the one where I'm
callous or should I
just read my father's
health updates as the
purest statement of fact,
nothing but the whole truth,
and none of this circle talk,
of which I am fond.

meditation roar

When he meditates
he roars
like literally
he carries the pillow into the bedroom
shuts the door
for a little more privacy
And with closed eyes
And a few deep breaths
This horrifying
sound emerges from his chest
When he meditates
he very literally
roars

Faith