Jul 16

The Shelburne Museum

I will go to the Shelburne Museum
I will go to the Shelburne Museum and wear an ankle-length frock
Hold it up while I frolic down the rolling green hills
I will go to the Shelburne Museum and offer the taxidermy horses scraps of apple
As if I am a nineteenth century runaway on the streets of London
While in reality I've just stuffed myself with basil crepes and lemonade 
I will go to the Shelburne Museum and speak in a buttery southern accent
Or alternatively an Earl Grey English accent
And I will be an orphaned maid, mistreated but on an important espionage mission for the duke
Or a snobby-rich city girl uncovering dark secrets with her elegant eloquent friends
I will go to the Shelburne Museum and spend way too much time standing at the front of the one room schoolhouse
Looking out over my dutiful pupils who played in the schoolyard a hundred years ago
Jul 11

Marriage

"Marriage is a curse"
Says the PTA mother
Shackled to her pompous husband's side as gremlins squeal at her feet
Wishing she had taken that promotion and moved to Wisconsin before she met Eric
"Marriage is a blessing"
Says the old sailor
Clutching to his wife's arm like the prow of his old ship
Now nearly blind but she's a lighthouse
A beacon in the dark
"Marriage is a privilege" 
Say Frank and Jacobs
Well into their sixth decade of what can only be described as true love
Who traded vows six years ago on the White House lawn and sobbed sweet tears
"Marriage is unnecessary"
Says Gladys
Five shoddy husbands behind her and never once looked back
Happy to sip tea and gossip with people a quarter of her age
Who sends sarcastic Christmas greetings to Leonard and Rory every holiday
"Marriage is terrifying"
Says the girl
Barely sixteen but needs to get out of the house

Jul 11

New Word

Jul 11
poem challenge: Personify

Desperation

Stay 
Please for the love of god won't you stay
I'll plaster my face with concealer
Coat my bitterly true words with lies like honey
I'll take every jagged edge of me and carve them into smooth puzzle pieces
That lock perfectly into yours
Even if it means shearing off my gasping guffaws and simmering them down into gentle giggles
Classical music makes the space inbetween my eyes itch but I will burn every cd of Wicked I own (6) if you will just stay
You say books and reading are dull and a man's sport
So the only one that will inspire me is Fahrenheit 451
I will shape and polish like a raw wild gem into a wedding ring
If only you will stay
Stay
 

Words

Jul 07

Writers Rut

There was a writing prompt a while back about best friends
And how to describe them
I love to write but am so tired of writing the same things over and over and over and over
"She"
Penned by a girl who is doing this for no reason but to keep her brain occupied for a few more seconds
She is water running
And waves lapping
And ice cream kisses and falling asleep to the lapping of lapis waves
She is watermelon in a tupperware with a seasoning of sand
And laughing because we don't care if our shoulders are burning or our lips are blushing bright and blue
Because she is there and she is calamine lotions and lemon zest and five dollars on the boardwalk for a drumstick and a cheap watch
I could write something like that that takes five minutes and three visits to thesaurus.com just for shoddy alliteration
I don't even spell-check at this point
I write like this to escape the moment
But it doesn't make me proud anymore
Jul 07

Cicada Jelly

The beavers are lonely
They suckle upon false hope and wavering prophecy
They came they saw they sawed 
They spend every day thinking of how to catch up to the next
You too
Are the beavers
 
Jul 07

My Brain Is Breaking

Life is cruel to the guileless
And the hungry
To feast upon a sight for sore eyes
To bathe in salts and cuts and gentle coppers
To whisper the names of false men to the dead of knight
To dream that one day everything and one will be 
To be the fallen tree in the forest
I'm so confused and in so much pain but it spews out poems that you eat up and
I gobble your attention and praise and insults and passing glasses
And I am very tired and still sparring with those horrid British tongues
But somehow still have time to break



 
Jun 30
poem challenge: Heat

In days from now

In days from now my hands will be leather
My lips chapped and sharp like spun glass
My eyes shriveled and wrinkled as an old mans fingerprints
My mouth dry as your retorts
And it will be too late and I will be too tired and too hopeless to cry for what might have been

Or 

In days from now my hands will be rougher from plowing and tinkering
My lips dry from objecting and demanding
My eyes wide and clear as a Wednesday morning
My lips as thin and furrowed as her brow
And it will be late and I will be tired and busy but I will be able to gaze out on what we have salvaged
 
Jun 30
poem challenge: Fan Fiction

Red did not go into the forest that day

Red did not go into the forest that day
She did not waltz or glance or whistle or slow or pluck or meander or wander or apprehend or arrive or question or 
Reach into the belly of the beast and pull grandmother out
Red did not go into the forest that day
Red was a little girl who was not supposed to enjoy the deep dank dark drear of the dewy dogwoods
She did
Until they told her not to
They told her with thundering fists and barbed compliments and sugar-spun vowels and a bubble blown around her thin frame
So then she didn't 
Red did not go into the forest that day because
She was busy shaping and plucking and purging and squeezing and applying and puckering and practicing and starving
And bleeding and screaming and then composing and gossiping and longing for the cover of the pines
So
Red did not go into the forest that day and
Grandmother 

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