Jan 04

Cold - A Tiny Writes Collaborative Poem

These awesome YWP writers describe what being cold is like: Roses, Mysticat, dogpoet, Treblemaker, LadyMidnight, laurenm, Moonsand, Yellow Sweater, Ice Blink, infinitelyinfinite3, amaryllis, Crescent_Moon, Whitney, cedar.

Dec 28

salty royalty

because I like the idea of being a queen,
grapevines twisting around my heart,
southern noons painted in pointalism,
beauteous con artists bringing me briny gold
and sand that I trailed over my checkered marble.

and if I ask take me out to the middle of the sea
so my petticoats float around me, as a jellyfish would sting, I scream into the salt. 

because when the rain falls it's a queen's bath,
drops evolving into wet petals when they hit the heat soaked gravel
queens don't ask to wear shoes.

evenings covered up in veils that cloud me in confection.
4:30 am dances on balconies, twirling and teetering and tipping towards the weeds.
mid-day heat steaming through the floor of my white leather car.
open the windows and breathe until there's too much bay air in my lungs,
like sails billowing with whomping breezes. 
the harbor is my home.

queens don't ask to walk on water.
Oct 17

Nickels and Nuts

I got on the swing.
It was cold. A little damp. Years of me rubbed into the surface.
Hello. To the brown floor of planet.
It's cold.
If I did a handstand, how long do you think I could hold it?
I fell.

Farther up went my swing.
Circular. Grilled cheese. I am a mess.
Do you think seventh grade is better?
Worse math grades.
Then again,
Higher went my swing.
I try to do a pirouette,
But my eyes spin in their pockets - 
Sockets, get it right!
And my feet stick to the ground.
The skin spinning around itself. Like a tie-dye.
That didn't work.

I fell in the water yesterday.
It felt like a cold nickel. Iron on my tongue.
Plus, nuts (macademia) taste like nausea.
Farther went my swing.
But I knocked into the fence.
So I stopped swinging. I went inside.
My veins throbbing with nickels and nuts.
The swing was still going. 

Oct 14

A fable

An old woman and a young girl stood by the seashore. The sea was raging, large waves leaping onto the sand and gobbling back into the water in a curl of cackles. The old woman shivered. The girl opened her arms and embraced the breeze.
"I want to go in!" said the girl.
"It is too cold," said the woman. 
"I don't mind. I want to go in!"
"You will get wet. You are not dressed for swimming."
"I will go naked if I must."
"I have to!"
The girl pondered it for some time. Then she ran straight into the water.
"Why!" yelled the old woman, clutching her arms on the shore.
"I don't know!" The girl plunged through the waves, laughing, shouting. Irresistibly, deliriously, happy.

The moral of the story: Don't question the why. Live in the moment.

Sep 10

Rules for the 2020 middle schooler

1. It doesn't matter what mask you're wearing. But... WEAR ONE.
2. When inside, hand sanitizer is god. Worship it.
3. When outside, it's perfectly normal to be about two feet apart. With no mask on. (Hey, there's fresh air, right?)
4. It's no longer rude to surreptitiously scoot away from someone who's too close for comfort (or just someone you don't like... but keep it surreptitious.)
5. Your teachers will continually comment on how new everything is for them. This is another way of saying please be nice to us, we're surviving on coffee alone. (But also, yay teachers. Thanks guys.)
6. You can't whisper in class anymore, because no one can tell you're whispering. It's easy to forget that the most expressive part of your face is hidden, so be prepared to ask and be asked "what??" about 15 times a day.
7. It's actually pretty easy to tell if someone is smiling, but you never know. Be nice.

Sep 03
poem 6 comments challenge: Sunset

Blushing shadows

it was night, and she crept along the edge of insanity
wondering when she would fall.

tapping lights that flicker on and off
inside my chest
and now i sit writing
wondering if i will ever have the same rush again

i've seen pink fade to grey to blue to black
to all of the impossible things in the world that are the sweet taste of freeness
because the sun had faded away and we were left with our hands outstretched

the cold of the shower, her hands felt the droplets fling themselves onto the creases
and like tears, they were fleeting and fast
more, more, more of the magical

because at sunset all things burn into my pupils
at sunset i am left twirling until the moutain spins in front of me
doing cartwheels until i am rushed with love
and me, just me.
just me and sunset.

the lightness of shadows crept forward, 
Aug 14

Potato Chips

It was the kind of Tuesday afternoon that made you want to do something at the same time you're ready to take a nap. And the kind of plane ride where the free bag of chips is the best thing you're going to have all day. The kind of fourty-degree weather that's too cold to do anything and too warm to do anything cold. Diana was the kind of person who liked to figure out what kind of people the people around her were. 

So Tuesday afternoon found her, on a plane, stretching out in her seat and staring at the back of the person's head in front of her, trying to ignore the constant kicking of the seven year old boy behind her. He'd been nudging her seat back and forth since they took off, and she had given up turning around and trying to give him her best I'm-not-your-mother-but-listen-to-me look. Next to her sat a middle aged man who looked like he had gotten past the age where he could try new things. He was engrossed in his e-reader, squinting his eyes every so often and relaxing them like he was trying to figure out a certain mystery or clue. He wore a Red Sox jersey and faded, tough looking jeans. His old navy baseball cap was tipped far back on his head, almost as if it was trying to fall off on it's own. Diana had been studying him for several minutes now, wondering where he came from and where he was going. 

The man looked up at her all of a sudden and smiled, but his eyes slid right past her and out the window on her left side. Diana looked out too, but she didn't see anything except clouds below them and blue next to them and around them. ...
Aug 06
poem 2 comments challenge: Yellow

Yellow Flower

I am a yellow flower.

Alone, bright, in-your-face noticeable.

For a toddler's hands to pluck me from my sidewalk crack home
And tuck me in their soft hair.

At the playground,
On asphalt so faded it is gray...
Sing to me a poem about a yellow flower,
And cup me in your small, happy fingers.
So I will fall into you,
And you fall into me,

I will be your yellow flower.
Shining happily.

Jul 30

The stars and I

It is the end and the beginning.
It is the stars that are guiding 
Us now, and no longer the sun.
The sun was bright but it was
Worried, it was tired,
And so it fell, and the stars
Came. And they beckoned to me, 
So I followed,
While the sun looked on,
Jealous of the life we will
Build together, the stars and I.

We will build a waterfall of newfound energy
And while it flows 
(Which is eternity)
We will fall down it
As the word cascading falls
From our lips
And I will smile
And so will she.

The stars are my mother,
So I follow them home,
Tripping on tiptoe to tantalous tips
Of whipped cream spires on
Our palace,
Which is where I will rest
As the stars caress my face,
And so does the sun.
For I won't leave her behind,
She will wave to me from
My old self.
She whispers with tears in