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

Sep 21

On June 20th I Found Myself

Sometimes I lose myself. Today, I found myself when I sat at the dining table, piecing words together with a jumbo sharpie and some scissors and the rain poured down and the cat was asleep and Johnson sang as I wrote poems for all of you and I found myself. Finally feeling warm at home.
 
Sep 13

The Best Hour

The best hour of any day is when our tummies are still full 
from eating those leftovers for lunch, but 
it’s closer in time to dinner, when the clouds have parted ways
and all that’s left is the constant, reassuring buzzing of the locusts
who I believe love to love (though that’s another poem), and

the temperature always peaks at this time so 
instead of humidity there is a sort of raw, 
harsh heat that the sun beams down below onto our heads 

and unless we’re too tired to hike up that tall hill 
(it is a true barrier to the rest of the world)
we know we will soon find ourselves reclining on the theater porch, relaxing in those 
old Adirondack chairs (which fit us so well) 
and our fingers methodically weave bracelets–
finished! 
Made it for you.
So quick. 
Aug 30

January

I am currently trying to tear
down the walls 
of this suffocating shell I once built
in order to contain
myself. 

It is a distressing experience 
to forget oneself
only to then crave remembrance of that particular 
past personality. 

It feels like sliding off the side 
of a tilted sailboat, 
approaching your terrifically terrible death, until 
a familiar hand 
grabs your sweat-soaked shirt and pulls you back up to 
safety. 

Home, at last!

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