Hey, it's been a while! I'm currently working on something with the Listen Up Project, as I know some other YWPers are, so I've been focused on that. It's been a really cool process, and I wanted to start sharing some of my work for it here as well. This is a poem I wrote around the theme of "Don't Tell" ...but transitioned more to answer another prompt - "Who am I?". I've been on here a while but still hesitate to share personal stuff sometimes, so this is my attempt :)

I have no idea where I’m "from".
This question should be easy - I’ve lived in Vermont for nearly fifteen years. 
But when, like me, you define “from” as more than a place
- broader than a single pin on a map,
or one neat little zipcode - 
it’s more complicated. 

To me, from is the idea of origin;
nothing to do with birthplace,
and everything to do with
what shapes our identities. 
I was born in Arizona,

I have no idea where I’m “from.”
This question should be easy – I’ve lived in Vermont for nearly fifteen years. 
But when, like me, you define “from” as more than a place
– broader than a single pin on a map,
or one neat little zipcode –
it’s more complicated. 

To me, "from" is the idea of origin;
nothing to do with birthplace,
and everything to do with
what shapes our identities. 
I was born in Arizona,
yet my only archetypically southern traits are
a propensity to address groups of people as y’all 
and the strongly held opinion that cornbread should NOT be sweet.
This is my birthplace, but is this where I’m from?

When I was less than two, we moved to
my grandparents’ home:
NY state – not city; 
(a place is more than its cities,
eh Vermont?)
Shuttling back and forth between the suburbs
and a tiny mountain town.
This was my first experience of snow,

Very rough draft of a Abecedarian poem created during yesterday's wonderful poetry workshop. Thank you Alexandra for the inspiring experience! It was cool to try writing in Abecedarian form; it really helpful to get ideas out. Here's my brain dump piece for now...I'll probably come back and edit it later. 

All it takes is one fly in the web
beckoning the stabbing spider who
carries a cacophony of
deadly jaws and
electric yellow warnings of
fiery venom that liquifies me in a single
gaping bite.

Her window - wide eyes reflected mine,
intricately cracked and mended in a pattern
just clean enough to hold.

Kin are the stitches to an embroidered 
love: stiches fray as
moths gnaw at any bright perfection. 

Never take pearly bindings as an end
on which to balance your happiness;
perhaps dove wings shall spread,
quitely pumping the blood that
reddens in an instant

The sand was shifting beneath me, slowly warming as the warm red light of the twin suns flooded my eyelids. Wait, twin suns?! I scrambled myself up until I was leaning my elbows into the sand. I blinked, my eyelashes sticking, then releasing. I still saw two blazing orbs. I must have fallen down the stairs, knocked my head, and am now seeing double. Yes, that’s it. I brought my hand up to examine my head, and noticed the sand sticking to my palms. Black sand. I’m in...Hawaii? No, that’s not logical, what did I do, teleport, then get knocked out? hesitantly, I glance back up. There are still two suns. And one of them is red. There must be a logical explanation. I search for the last thing I remember. Everything feels heaving, grainy, like the sand. And dark, sinking. I see myself falling to my knees, hands flying to my face to hide it. From what? My face was wet with tears. It slams into me again, the weight, as if the entire planet had turned to iron and crashed onto my head.

The year I turn eighteen,
our atmosphere will release
the last particle of helium
Into space.

I was born in the
2nd
Year of the
2nd
Millenium,
On the 20th

and the 2nd atomic element
will leave our planet in 2020,
2 years from now.

If the universe is made up of math,
all algebra
glimmering with geometry,
tinted in trig
and cradled in calculus,
Then tell me,

Is 18 an equation where if
1 is singularity
and 8 is upright infinity,
then 18= adulthood?

But of course no mathematician will answer me
till I solve for that constant,
find the double of fear,
the square root of censure
round to significance -

To 18
to having
rights a
Vote a
Voice....
To be a Person.

A person
That  forgets anyone with less than
2 digits painted under their eyes,

Salt and pepper purled carpets
smelled of sultry dandelion fluff,
the sun illuminating the cinnamon
lincoln-log blocks resting on the dove-threaded swells.
(Is there peace in a metric rectangle, perched on the clashing seas?)

The hickory seeds would take to their feathers
as we kicked through their sunny fluff,
I'd see the full-seeded flower head as a globe
where the equidistant inhabitants raised their wizened brows in triumph.
(How long ago did you realize the world could never be that sage?)

Those dandelions are stitched 
into the foreground of my memory,
though even then I knew
why the fences wore obsidian arrows:
the stones in this meadow were graves.
(Did you know any of the dead, or are you searching again for kinder strangers?)

We searched for the most distant date, 
one eights, one sevens, last two digits trailing...

(Response to the challenge Titles: Create a poem using only the titles of books near you. Write it in seven minutes.)

I’LL GIVE YOU THE SUN,
THE THRONE OF FIRE,
20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA.

NAVIGATING EARLY
THE BURNING MAZE,
VISITORS
JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH.

PATHFINDER:
The Mouse with the Question Mark Tail
The Cucumber King
The Lost Track of Time
The Running Dream.

Under the Egg,
THE SERPENT’S SHADOW,
A PART OF THE SKY,
THE BOOK OF DUST:

The MYSTIC TRAVELOGUES.

counting by 7s,
Mary Oliver’s Devotions
ECHO
THE HIDDEN ORACLE.

#sos18