NPM Day 27 {Roundabout}

This poem used to give me chills. They were sort of good chills, sort of bad chills. When I wrote this over seven years ago, they were my only way of processing one of the biggest fights with a friend I've ever experienced. I honestly can't even remember what the fight was about, but it went on for several months longer than I felt capable of enduring.

All I had were these words. 

And I've avoided this poem over the years, but it doesn't have power over me anymore. 

So here you go.

Roundabout

February 12, 2010

You are the friend of my conveniences,

coffee cups cold with petty sympathies.

You are a walk in the dark,

the translation of my nightmares,

and you lay your hands down on me

like a sacrificial beast into the flames.

You bear the knife in clammy palms,

breathing out my fate like a grudge

that holds on hopelessly.

You are the arrow that misses my heart

a thousand times too many for pity.

You stab me in the back

and apologize. You are so sorry.

Patterns go roundabout, but maybe

you will hit the target next time.

You are the accumulation of ice,

the shivering abandonment of reason.

You stab me in the back

and apologize. You are so sorry.

Patterns go roundabout,

yes is a maybe and maybe means no.

You stab me in the back

and sympathize. You are so sorry

that I am such a sorry sight.

You stab me in the hand

and put the blade in my bloody fingers

and you scream for me.

You say I did it to myself and

you say it's all my fault and

you stab me in the heart and

patronize. You are so sorry

that I don't see it your way.

NPM Day 17 {Willow Tree}

Willow Tree
May 30, 2016

it was long ago under a willow tree
you spoke and made me still

i heard you
i felt you
i breathed you
in the wind

as it passed so steadily
in time like a divine heartbeat

through the grass
through the flowing branches
through my hair
through me

i can close my eyes and remember
that final moment of stillness
being so perfectly held

before you moved
the world all around me
before you moved
in the branches above me
before you moved
within me

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 Day 4 {Still}

Still
August 15, 2016

if you are near
as near as breath
as near as touch
wash over me

and be nearer still
be closer still

as close as a kiss
as close as a heartbeat
as close as blood
wash over the inside

for I am a vessel
be inside my heart
be inside my soul

be nearer
be closer still
wash over me
wash over and fill

as close as a memory
as close as you were
inside my thoughts

as close as this moment
as close as sunlight
as close as love

NPM Day 2 {Beckoned}

Beckoned
April 2, 2017

The Oregon sun was petulantly dry,
the earth beside the road quiet and choked
with enchanting travelers' dust, clustered
with tiny mountains sharp, yellow rocks
between blinding white daisies or
a thrush of persistent dandelions.

A short climb through grass on the left
led to dragonflies, green and blue,
darting over the river stones and gerridae
and the sun was not cruel but tender
as water rolled and gushed around boulders,
thundering to be freed over the falls.
To the right the ground sloped, ending
abruptly, giving way to the truth below
where waters dangerous and blue beckoned,
and it was there I flung my tiny body
over the cliff, into the deep, feeling my feet
just touch the murdering rock below the surface.

If I close my eyes I can still feel the sun
purifying the gold in my long hair,
and the air around me cooling in descent
just before the water meets me gladly,
devouring me up from my toes as
I plunge myself into the unknown, and
wondering almost infinitely--
if I break the surface, will it break me?

National Poetry Month 2017 - Day 1 {From the Back Door Looking Forward}

I may have lost my motivation to blog regularly. But I'll never grow out of poetry, and I'll never not participate in National Poetry Month because, well, I have no good reason to abstain. It's funny, though. A whole year later and not much has changed, not on the inside, and yet on the outside my life looks entirely different. A completely new cluster of friendships have emerged and therefore a whole new group of people will be privy to experiencing this side of me.

This will go the same way it always does. I'll give you titles and original dates. If there's a relevant backstory I'll include it. Here is Day 1.

From the Back Door Looking Forward

June 23, 2016

Absorb my fears
into your trembling hand.
Prophesy my tears
into the burning sand.
My voice
will soak barren lands,
will move mountains
strong and grand.
But did you know then
what I hope to know now,
before peasants rose up
and emperors bowed?
I am the dessert
to be soothed.
I am the mountain
to be moved.

NPM: Six Whole Poems

I love weekends, but there is something peaceful about being alone in the classroom on Monday nights. The solitude and the open space is somehow calming. There was some sort of bustle last week, though I couldn't even tell you what I became busy with, except that it kept me from blogging (the horror). Yet in the previous six days, despite having missed writing/posting poems for each of them, my view counter increased by about 200. That phrase is probably meaningless to you, so I'll break it down: Over 10,100 people have viewed my blog. That's like 200 people just in the last week. 

And I wasn't even here.

No, I won't make it up to the world by writing a a gushing fountain of poems. But I will post six, because I owe six. That will have to be satisfactory. In any case, enjoy these. :)

1. Senbon - Written March 24, 2015

To blame myself

gives me more power than I deserve.

I bitterly hoped

for nothing but the worst but

never really asked for such fruition.

And when I said

those hurtful words to curse you

they were spoken from a desire

that I would merely be blessed too.

So I will not feel guilty

if you will not feel slighted

because I know the weight of loss

and no one

can carry it alone.

2. Under the moon. - Written January 18, 2015

Reaching for each other

under the moon or

in the sun

Hands chained to hearts

bring us both

to light

3. Femme - Written June 8, 2014

I send you out with diamonds for eyes,

I have made you a promise of gold.

You will nourish the hearts and minds of men

until all but your love has grown old.

4. The Worst - Written June 5, 2014

My favorite song asks me what I’m so afraid of. 

It asks me why I feel scared–because it knows

it’s just a feeling, and nothing more.

It asks me, what’s the worst that can happen?

And in those moments after I've prayed

like a wounded bird about to take flight

I ask myself those same three questions

to somehow gauge the distance

between the anxiety flooding my body

and the reality I must endure, regardless

of whatever the worst might be.

5. Sacred. - Written May 27, 2014, Revised April 13, 2015

I am not better than you.

I am stronger than I was,

I am wiser than I was,

older and better

than the person

I have been.

And so are you.

But if you unlearn the lessons

we learned separately,

and yet

in equal measures

of turmoil,

you will undo all

the damage I've repaired.

I promise,

and do not threaten,

to be better angrier,

to be better sadder,

to be better forsaken

than you were ever sacred.

6. Middleofthenightness - Written April 12, 2015

Like everyone else

I look back.

Some people see

a great loss

or mourn for

a great love

and wonder at

the great divide

which shelters us

from the people we were.

But I see a girl making

a great mistake

while she longs for

a great love

and fights against

the great divide,

but losing myself

is the only thing

I do not count as

a great regret.