NPM Day 24 {Barefoot}

--This doesn't have to be one of your favorites, but it is one of mine.

Barefoot
September 29, 2016

When I was younger,
I lived in the rain;
pain held no beauty or treasure,
and no one ever spoke of
the stillness
brought in with summer’s end.
Autumn in Auburn
was damp and evergreen,
not like here where
I can stand in the parking lot
suddenly silent
without the hum of a thousand
air conditioners
and then I can move
in any direction
to crush a leaf beneath my feet.
The crisp noise resonates
off those bricks, still sore
from the cicadas’ song.
No one ever told me
the falling leaves
among ill-tempered winds
would break my heart,
would whisper my name
back against a wall of memory
until I was just a little girl again
running in the rain,
fearless of any consequences
–even barefoot.
I feel it coming every year
like the hushed breath
before a storm,
and I catch myself
longing for it and
dreading it all the same,
but can never quite prepare
for the falling
beautiful ache.

NPM Day 22 {Winter Resurgence}

Winter Resurgence
December 19, 2016

shivering
under the moon that night

it blinked down
like a veiled eye

i said
i can be brave
when i can’t feel my hands

shivering
under the glitter trees

where berries frost
and disappointments freeze

i said
i killed a wolf
you just killed a man

NPM Day 8 {Even You}

Even You
August 18, 2016

It is not for sinners,
vagabonds encrusted
by a lifetime’s angry soiling.
It is not for the redeemed,
the purified or vilified
or sanctified by
personal efforts.
It is not for your goodness,
for your righteous silence,
or task-oriented piety.
It is not a compensation
for your surrender
or your gratitude
or your penance.
It is not earned
but wholly entrusted,
thrust upon you brazenly
that may often feel
like a reward
but can weigh you down
like someone else’s burden.
And it is not delivered
because you asked,
even though you may.
It is given
because we are all in need.
Even you.

NPM 2016: Day 10 {Advent}

Advent
December 12, 2015

In this season we should be hoping,
waiting for your arrival,
singing bright into the long nights,
lighting candles in anticipation
of our hearts’ greatest longing.
But my heart is cold as ice
and it knows you’ve already come,
it knows that you are here and so
as the walls press in around me
and the darkness lowers into me
like a corpse into the grave
I am already in mourning.
I am not asking you to come
but begging you
from the shadows.
Don’t leave me,
and don’t let me go.

Thirty Thanks, Day 11 - Day 18: All These Things In Between

An entire week has passed since I made the time to blog. I mentioned, I think, that November was my busiest month. I wasn't lying. Perhaps this is why it's important to stop and be thankful for things amid all the chaos and bewildering activity. I would attempt to go back to each day I've missed, thinking of something that happened on those days that I can be thankful for. But it's been a long week, and then a long weekend, and so these smell in-between things are going to be arbitrarily chosen.

Day 11: I am thankful that my apartment is fairly clean right now, and that (for the winter, at least) the spiders have stopped invading.

Day 12: I am thankful for winter clothes, and for the excitement I experience when I take them out of storage and put away the summer dresses.

Day 13: I am thankful for stores that are closed on Sundays, even if it inconveniences me.

Day 14: I am thankful for friends who come to visit me in Illinois, because it makes me feel grown up and worth hanging out with.

Day 15: I am thankful for Chicago and all its wonders.

Day 16: I am more thankful for Seattle, because it's my favorite city, even if its wonders are more familiar and less mysterious.

Day 17: I am thankful for stores that haven't put up their Christmas decor yet.

Day 18: I am thankful for peppermint flavored things, and the abundance of them during this absolutely delightful season.

And now I'm all caught up. I promise to try to get on top of everything again tomorrow. I may even write some posts in advance because Thanksgiving is coming soon and I will be even more occupied and busy.

Thanks, all-these-things-in-between. You're incredible... and your brevity is convenient.

Thirty Thanks, Day 9: Fall

I don't have much to say, because I'm pretty tired, and I have some work yet to do tonight. It's been a busy weekend, and I have a busy week ahead, then a busier weekend, then a less busy week, then a REALLY busy week, and then... it will be December, which is like all of that packed into one.

So today I am thankful for Fall. Fall is sort of a conundrum in the Midwest, because it takes forever to get here, and then it's gone in about four weeks. Summer lasts forever and then a little breath of autumn and then ALWAYSWINTERBUTNEVERCHRISTMAS. I mean, ahem, it snows a lot and I get bronchitis.

I have talked often about fall, and how I love the changing leaves and the colors everywhere. So I won't say a lot more about it. It's beautiful. It smells nice. It makes for many pretty pictures. Also, pumpkin everything.Thanks, Fall. You're incredible.

A Decade of Deciding

This is the third year in a row I've taken fall photos at the Wright Woods. I figure since I just wrote about fall I could write about this place, but I've got something else on my mind. It's the sort of thing that happens to me when I think about "how many years it's been" since something. 

And of course, I realized, 10 years ago I was 16 and it was fall and a whole mountain of memories crumble down and crush me. Right now I am this 26-year-old person dealing with all these un-26-year-old issues because when they happened, I didn't even know what they meant. Or if they meant anything at all.

Ten years ago, in 2004, I turned 16. I was a sophomore in high school. I had a "surprise" birthday party. I went on my second missions trip. That same year I decided my favorite color was green, and no longer orange. One of my best friends moved to Texas. I went on my first real date, with a guy who actually liked me. I was accused of being a lesbian by the new girl at school. I was a TA for the biology teacher. I met another best friend, and began a relationship based on a shared love of music and chocolate muffins. The new Relient K CD came out. I had one of the leads in the school play. My brother-in-the-NAVY (which was how I referred to him back then) got to come home for Christmas. I had really long hair. I started wearing make-up more often. I read a lot of Shakespeare. I wore a lot of scarves. Took a lot of photos with my parents' old Nikon. My dog was born, and was given to me the week before Christmas. The guy I was in-like with, the guy I went on my first real date with, actually became my boyfriend for a whole month and six days. (He then dumped me, the second time that year. We dated for 11 days when I was 15.) 

And it's been ten long years but some of these things still steal my breath from my lungs--as if the impact of them still shocks me, and I still can't believe it all happened. I still can't believe I was that person for a whole year and, believe it or not, it was the one year in high school I did not find myself faced with any serious depression. I had bad days, of course. But overall? Sixteen was incredible.

You must understand, however, that I had to decide every single day to make it incredible. I am never going to tell you that happiness is a choice. Aside from the fact that "happiness" is overrated and inconstant, depression is more complicated than choosing how to feel. But I somehow managed for an entire year to simply tuck it away. It takes a certain strength to take your sadness, your depression, your anxiety and fear, and put those things in your pocket while you go about your business. These days I'm pretty good at it, but I couldn't begin to explain how I do it currently and certainly couldn't tell you how I did it then when my brain wasn't even fully formed.

But I can tell you what it felt like.

When I made a new friend, I felt like I was "enough." Having finally reached a healthy level of confidence, I was able to reach out and introduce myself to people. If they didn't like me, I wasn't crushed--and that was difficult to do in a school with only 150-ish students. If something was truly upsetting, I knew I had people to talk to. 

When I chose a new favorite color, it was a near-physical manifestation of moving away from the angst of being 15. I still loved orange, and still do today, but at 15 it was like my armor. I had this hideous orange sweatshirt and imagined myself protected from the world by it. It both drew attention to me and protected me by setting me apart. At some point I must have realized I didn't need it. 

When I foolishly fell in love, my whole world did not tilt on its axis or cause me to stumble. He was a friend, who became a boyfriend, who became a friend again. It wouldn't be the last time we tried being "in love," but the time when I was 16, it didn't break me apart. When it was over, I was sad, but felt no real loss because I knew had better support and better friendships in other places.

Essentially, I was not overcome by my weaknesses, but rather I discovered my own strength and was not afraid to use it. I didn't fear it would leave me in a moment, or a day. I was not anxious about people seeing my strength and calling me aggressive, or arrogant, or obnoxious. I chose to show it off. I didn't need to hide under a baggy sweatshirt, or an ugly color. 

I have been many versions of myself in the past 10 years. And even though, when I see this girl, I ask myself, "Who is she? What makes her so strong?" I know I can still find her in me. I can decide to use her strength at any moment.

The Worst Wonderful Time of the Year

I love summer as much as the next season-loving grown up. I love the trees and the flowers and the grass, all flushed with sunlight. I love the beach at night and bonfires and camping. I love making iced tea and getting fresh fruit from the farmers' market. I love sleeping with the window open, and picnics, and the squalls of children running wild and free. But I could do away with the rest of summer--obnoxiously peppy music, girls (or women) not wearing enough clothing, the heat, the humidity, the inappropriate volume of hair my dog sheds each day, and the "air pollution level" warnings, More than anything, though, I hate that in the summer each person seems to be screaming, "YOLO!" as they flounce around in swimsuits smaller than napkins with cocktails in one hand and smart phones in the other. 

The summer mentality is, "Live for the moment." This is a great mentality... but I'm usually over it in exactly one moment. I'm not a square, or a fuddy-duddy, and it has nothing to do with being introverted. I just prefer to live without the expectation that everything will be sunny and impressive and fun for an entire three months.

I am the sort of person who wakes up mid-October, notices that summer's splendor is gone, and am shamelessly grateful. Summer and it's shallow mindset is gone. The sunset of the year is upon us, during which my soul sighs and I can enjoy things simply because they are beautiful, not because the sun is shining and I have to fit in all the fun before it goes down.

 My husband and I practically melt into the sidewalk each time we step outside, taking it all in. I am constantly in love, with every tree burst into orange flame, with every watercolor leaf on the ground (which I enthusiastically crunch beneath my feet.) The mornings and evenings are both their own variation of crisp. The smells, more than anything, send us reeling. Apple cider. Pumpkin pie. Frosted dry grass. The scent of the burning dust as the heater comes humming to life. 

But it is also in this season I begin to truly miss home. Autumn in the Midwest is so much different from Washington. In Illinois, the weather can go from 80°F to 45°F in just one day. An Indian summer might last until mid-November, and then it will snow. There are few evergreens here, so the trees are brilliantly colored. In Washington, the colorful trees are more noticeable, because they are so few. It rains, but the temperature is much steadier and there is no humidity. People are much more keen to light fires in their backyard or burn leaves. 

They are different, and I love both places. But that's why it's hard. I have come to accept that I'm here, and have been here for three years, and might be here even longer. And yet I miss home, more and more every day. And every time I go into a grocery story, or a craft store, or just walk down the street, everything reminds me of home. I know that somewhere else in the world there's a Starbucks sitting in the rain, just a couple miles from the ocean, and inside the Starbucks no one is griping about the Dan-Ryan or $45 city stickers or the smog. The world is simpler, with mountains as a backdrop, and evergreens growing out of sidewalk cracks, and nobody carries an umbrella. 

Year after year, I rediscover, it's my favorite season to miss home.

NPM: Sun Tea

Sun Tea

My jar is too big for my windowsill;
my heart is too big for my sleeve.
So I put on a dress that
shows off my shoulders,
put my tea in the sun
before the day grew colder
and I'm happier than you'd believe.

NPM: Scattered, a Haiku, and some Easter poems

4/16/14
Scattered

The ocean wave is a coiled fist
which tosses its thoughts
across the abiding shore.
From its fingers they fly like
diamonds, sapphires and rubies,
all polished and glistening
among the seashells and sand.
The ocean abandons them
like common pebbles and rocks,
flings them away for
some fool to grasp tightly,
some soul to make their treasure,
some other who has no thoughts.


4/17/14
Untitled Haiku

Listen to the sun.
It is making us lazy.
Summer sleep is near.


4/18/14
Hero

You are not unsung
but what are you to me
with two thousand years
between your death and mine.
You are not outspoken
but passion seems to be
what binds us here
across space and time.
You are not invoked
but come for the great and small,
still you hold them within
your righteous embrace.
You are not illicit
but we hesitate at your call
to forsake other heroes
and follow you from this place.


4/19/14
The Second Day

A silence black
props us up
between the darkness
and tomorrow's glory.
When silence breaks
my heart will sing
and my mouth
will tell
your story.



I'm all caught up now. :)

NPM: Three.

4/11/14

Glass

You bend your knees,

you say a prayer,

but you can't say

what happened there

between the window pane
and the streaks of rain.
The glass never knows
if it's broken or wet
and if you become glass
you too will forget.


4/12/14
Holiday Special

In t.v. land jolly men walk
up around the streets of Christmas
carrying carols in their mittens
and swinging from one tradition
to another, taking for granted
that this will happen again next year,
next season, next boxed set,
next primetime holiday special.
But over the wall of wires and lights
it is an uncertain springtime
in which it seems always winter.
Nobody opens presents,
angels do not appear,
Santa never comes,
and somebody cries.

4/13/14
Sunday

Sunshine, cloudshine, moonshine.
Dewdrops, raindrops, nightdrops.
Wakefulness, achefulness, thankfulness.

NPM: Lingering

I hold a quiet jealousy,
reticent and proud.
It lingers in my heart
like a fragile, browning leaf
from a brittle-branched tree.
Lingering,
but never falling.
It possesses no power,
sways neither direction.
It is a wish, and a curse.
It pines for a love
to last for all eternity,
but knows in my whispers
that there is no marriage
in heaven.
It wants beyond reason,
it abandons understanding,
hoping that by wanting
I will keep it alive.
And I must.
By letting go of this desire
I might let go completely.
So I will hold my quiet jealousy
in silence and compliance
and make for me and my love
a seasonal heaven on earth
which will one day wither
like the autumn leaf.

NPM: The Work and the Worker, Delays, & The Art of Barking

I noticed, after my last post, that I wrote four poems for three days, and then skipped a day. And then I was tired so I skipped a few more, because, let's face it: poetry is hard work. When I spend so much of my time wrapping my brain around something that is not my niche, or my "go to" activity, it's hard to really delve into the emotional depths required for such writing.

I'm still tired. But I'll try. Because I owe the world three poems.


The Work and the Worker

Pilfering paper piles,
placidly placed,
perhaps people prefer
platitudes.
Half-hired honesty:
happy here,
happy however.
Happy his, happy hers,
happy hell.
What went wrong?
Which welling world
waywardly walked,
wistfully wandered,
wilted without
work?
Who was willful?
What worker?
What work?


Delays

If the sun shines
but the earth never turns.
Do we still
If the skies shake
but the rain stays aloft.
Do we stay?
And if it does rain
and the ground fills up
but the grass stays brown
and the flowers never grow.
Do we ever?


The Art of Barking

I've been bewildered by spring,
the innocence it does not spare,
allowing upward blossoms
to be trampled or twisted.
The birds' wings act as fists
against the smaller flying beasts
and the cruel rains drown
the newest of blooms.
It seems winter was not enough
of tragedy or agony
for the flowers or the foxes or me.
But even baby trees bend
and soon they grow a thick skin
and they get ready
for the next time around.