Nov 24

Floss

I ran out of floss and I suppose 
that makes things easier for now but
I know this will come back to get me, 
undeniably at the worst time. 

I am hungry but 
I have no appetite. I 
wonder how many days will be 
spent like this, pretending 
to be none the wiser. Because 
food is not a comfort anymore - it merely
exists to fill my belly and there used to
be a sort of pleasure in those 
momentous feasts but
no longer. 

Half the time I come home 
to find my heart broken in two, but
usually it sits calmly.

The days we don't talk
are the hardest. I remember the story, though. 
I know that I cannot demand things 
from you. Expectations take the substance 
out of an equation. 

Anyways, it tends to be most
days that we are apart, and I 
want you at my side. 

Then there comes a time 
towards evening when my mouth 
Nov 23

This is How I Feel

Isn't it obvious that I can't keep my eyes off of you? 
Or stop thinking about you? I'm up 
late with the tired sound of your voice. It's 
ringing through my ears. Something new. 

I'm worried it'll be gone when I wake up.

You know
I have an
awful poker
face.

It's just, you make me feel. 
         So full.
And bright. You make me bright.
All I do is smile.

God, you have such a hold
on me. My attempts to be calm
are embarrasing for the both of us. 

Which 
is a bit unfair. 

But I really don't mind
as long as you're here. With me. It's
already been so long. Just stay.
 
Nov 21

Poem No. 78 of Many

Not the days when birds come back - 
these are the days when cardinals come to life. 
I never notice them in summer. 
It is only when the snow begins to fall 
that their bright red coloring appears at all. 

Perched on the fence,
waiting for the others to arrive
while plump snowflakes make their way to the ground.
They rather float than drop down,
don't they?

Inspired by "These are the days when birds come back" by Emily Dickinson (poem 78).

Nov 15

November existence

It’s November, and music and words have long become a refuge for me. They always held open arms for me, but now more so than ever. Every minute without music feels like I am being strangled. My violin has sprouted both a piano and a guitar. If I don’t write, I explode. I need to describe in great detail the afternoon sun, and so many other things, or the world will crash and burn. I have read so many books this year, but it’s difficult to tell if I have learned much from them. In summer, the floating emptiness of having no place to be that surrounded me forced me to apply for one too many fall programs. Now my schedule is messy but I make desperate attempts to neaten it. I failed my license test because I didn’t see the red stop sign. My mother sometimes points at one before my eyes find it and reminds me of traffic laws. She has become my best friend. I can’t keep a secret from her. I tell her about my crush on the gelato man.
Nov 13

Emily Dickinson: These Are the Days When Birds Come Back

I'm grateful for these last few 
warm October nights (always 
thinking each one is the last) because 
I am able to savor the last 
bits of summer (blissful memories) when 
I pop open my window, allowing 
the breeze to seep into everything. 

The sound of dried, rustling leaves 
and the constant drizzle lull me
to sleep and bring me
dreams of what once was, seemingly 
so long ago. I spend an eternity in these moments.
 
Nov 13

Afternoon sun in the fall

These past few months, I've fallen in love with
the way the afternoon sun rests
upon the foot of my bed & finds
its way to the windowsill across my bedroom.

In the past I only knew the sun 
when the two of us had just woken up.
Her beautiful light seeped through 
the branches of my cedar to happily dance
on the side of my dresser while I sleepily lay in bed.

Now that I've met the warmth of sunshine
at two in the afternoon, everything
has changed. That orange-yellow light
makes the house feel old and untouched;
pure and still.
Oct 26

Word Master, Attempt #503

Thoughts concerning poetry
words  rhythms  phrases
punctuation, and the like
          travel          through          my          mind

during the day –
     as I glance at a magazine
     or look into my cat's wide eyes
     or hear my favorite song
     and/or crunch on my toast in the early morning 


But the ideas quickly subside & I
     never have enough
time to write
                   them
                   down.


         How shameful

it is
to think of myself as a writer,
a master of words

         when I cannot even
                                   convince them to calm down, then
                                   sit at the table,
                                   eat some crackers,
                                   & lie down quietly for a nap
                    inside of my notebook.
Oct 13

My Calendar Must be Wrong

It's October,
says my calendar,
but I'm not so easily convinced, even though
my cherry tomatoes tasted like pumpkins tonight
& I'm struggling to explain why.

It's October, and apparently almost my sixteenth birthday,
but I still feel like the eleven-year-old who has just
discovered music; the sound of that guitar being strummed
can transport me to another world.

It's October and I am not truly eleven -
something that becomes clearer every time I peek at the 
mirror and notice the curves of my body. They feel so
uncovered; seen by strangers whenever I go out.

It's October,
and I am still eleven. 
I need to feel eleven, can't you understand?
Growing up is too difficult, even for Capability Dodds, something
I have learned through the nightly tears springing out of my eyes
like the crocuses that shoot through crisp spring snow.
Oct 13

People don't ever really change

I believe that there are some aspects of ourselves that we never lose. Nobody ever really changes that much, do they? The world undulates around us while we make and lose friends and buy and throw away material things, but then there are those rocks sitting at the bottoms of our ponds. The water will shape the rocks over time but their cores will always be the same.

For instance, I'll never lose my love for nature. I can't imagine a future in which I don't go hiking, or one where I don't enjoy observing wildlife roaming about in their natural habitats. For me, those are old and everlasting feelings. In my opinion, new ones that we feel are more like whims - they stay with us for a bit, but eventually pass by. In my experience, most are heavily supplied by social media. I want to go live in Italy. I feel that my life is incomplete without a boyfriend. After a day or two, I'm myself again, and I realize that I don't really want to uproot my life to go live in Italy and that I am doing totally fine without a guy in my life.

Currently, images of fall and winter collide against each other in my mind. I keep thinking of the cold smell of January air. These are new parts of me. A month ago I mourned the loss of summer and believed the feeling would drown me forever. Now I can't wait for the first snow to arrive.

So here I am. Same person. New thoughts and feelings mixing with those everlasting ones, though. I'm awaiting the gentle click of my radiator to come back, like an old friend I haven't seen in a while. But in essence I remain unchanged since the day I was six, four, two, or just born. Earth keeps spinning on her axis, and I have managed to keep this much of myself intact. Mint condition, I like to think.
Sep 21

Salmo salar

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