Apr 09
poem 2 comments challenge: Home-ish
lindstove's picture

Feet Pounding

I started running in 5th grade. 
I started, I realize now,
In the hopes of finally
Being happy with my body.
I wasn't good, no, no, no.
In fact, I sucked.
I would nitpick the littlest thing about myself,
Feel terrible when I saw another girl whiz by
Light as a feather,
Grinning like she didn't know running was hard.
I just jogged, my feet sore and eyes misty.

6th grade, I came back against the odds, the only one of my friends.
I wrote my name in clumsy cursive 
​On the cross country roster
I don't think I knew I wanted to run again until
I wrote that first letter, finished it off with a curl.
Slowly, running made sense.
At meets, keeping up with the older kids
Made me feel like I was capable.
I felt cool, going afterschool to run
Pushing through pain and branches.
I felt like I was doing something worthwhile,
That I was worth the time the world put into me.
Mar 12
lindstove's picture

Dream Bubbles and Fever Dreams in a Gone-Garden


vevses
a friend yells down the hall

veroni

the name from fourth grade i hated until i realized
she had always called me veroni
my not-aunt aunt more-aunt than an aunt
i wonder if it rolls off her tongue
someday i will speak the roll
it’s beet-sugar sweet when i listen
why can’t life be beet-sugar?

google told me i was a butterfly
i laughed then
was it a butterfly laugh?

eyebrow up

though we all got a bit of butterfly
butterflies don’t have eyebrows
time twists my eyebrows
time twists my memories too
while ‘doptera i am not
the connections are there
all part of the same smart system
speedwell 
gypsyweed 

veronica 
officinalis 

second grade was weird
sometimes i forget i am a flower
my grandma’s garden was always full
she left room for the veronica’s, always
now i wonder if they were for me
Oct 21
lindstove's picture

Huh

I don’t say “poet” often
It feels wrong on my tongue
Poet” feels uneasy
 An itchy sweater your mother told you to put on
In a way she has
I’ve been surrounded by “poetry” all my life
But it feels unattainable
A gift meant for a different girl.

I realize now
When I can afford to think a little
That I am a “poet
I think in “poetry
When I put my thoughts down
They squiggle out of 
The boundaries of a paragraph
Into the arms of the “poetry” I scorn.

I have recently become a grateful person
Just within this past year
Who has the time to ignore their surroundings
Breathe them in,
Savor the fact that they’re there
To me that is “poetry”.

This new title of “poet” feels cozy
Roomy too
Which I guess just means I have room to grow
If you’re reading this Mr. Moore