and then one more
piecing together
the ivory coasts
of towers
tumbled
cracked and overgrown
making up the landscape
of artistic integrity
in its destruction
the beginnings of things
we don’t yet know

Twenty-sixth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

when I was growing up
at a certain point the dreams of what
my wedding would look like
turned into how many people would
show up to my funeral
if they would cry
and what they would say
or not say

I never expected to live past 21
so living up to it
and hanging on to
every year after
just seemed like cheating life
a little extra party every year
sucking the marrow out of moments
extreme and overwhelming
burning several candles on each end

Now that I’ve strung together several years
afterward
Unprepared and unfettered
I look around me and see
the things I’ve done
the things I’ve left undone
mostly rubble
mostly sacred
and wonder at the whole spectacle

It’s not that I’m ungrateful
I just haven’t any idea
what to do with where I’ve been
and what to do with where I’m at, now

Twenty-fifth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

A weekend of much needed space
time to expand
and enjoy
a break in the
constant drone of should’s
and catch my breath

Twenty-third, fourth poem(s) of 30 for NaPoWriMo
(combined for mental health)

silver sweet spots on
scales of orange mimsy roe
fins swish serenely

Twenty-second poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

Hope springs eternal
in the new sunshine
crazy city people all crawling out
of their winter induced isolation
showing off their tattoos, and their coping mechanisms
to worship the sun’s return
the way little green shoots peek out
from the cracks in the concrete
helping each other up, cursing each other out
a bizarre-o street party
no one knew was happening
and everyone was invited to
even and especially the bystanders
voices wafting on the breeze
singing, laughing, lifted up
this is the part of spring I never knew about
the return to connectedness

the truth is, I used to be afraid of the sun’s return
hid out from it
this season and what it meant
the cyclical recourse of new life
all of it associated with the kind of vulnerability
that was violent as spring storms
destructive and unpredictable
as those dark clouds and sudden downpours
but at least it was familiar to me

The sun made no sense
in context
neither the muted pastels, nor sharp spring food
eggs and rabbits
celebrating life and fertility
all things in and of themselves I like, maybe even love
but together in concert drove me
to an escalating but silent panic
reminders that I was capable of life
in this body
and the violent vulnerability
of a tacit understanding
I would have to protect myself
because no one else would do it for me

yet unexpectedly I find a mustard seed of kinship
growing for it
not the hijacked celebration twisted into
a beige representation of
the earth’s return from frostbite,
not the sugar high of dripping sweet gender roles
fueling capitalism’s fairy tale,
nor the morbid fascination of torture and crucifixion,
not that kind of spring, No
This year, spring is an interlude to
welcoming Beltane just around the corner
a new kind of magic
being a part of a connectedness

and most importantly
a tiny tender shoot of willingness to be
protected by something
greater than myself
pushing its way through the cracks
in a sidewalk waiting to be overgrown and fey
to let vulnerability be something
other than violent
and honoring my heathen ways
and body that though damaged and dented
is capable of creation and life

Twenty-first poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

Walking into this project
almost from the beginning
with expectations
in a room that smells of the sea
even though we’re landlocked

The beginning is
Ripping out pages
no longer needed
to make room for something new

And a note to myself left to mark the spot
“Dont put pressure on yourself”
a new understanding
of choices
namely the choice to not be overwhelmed.

Twentieth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

Poem excused for the day
due to a raging headache
turned migraine
Racked my tender brains
to figure out the reason why
withdrawal from caffeine, potential sinus infection,
too much thinking, transition, processing, worry
it could be anything really

Nineteenth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

Negative one hour in my sleep cycle
Thank the Universe for coffee
Even though its a pinch hit
Its effective enough
Tiredness combined
with not enough me time
will shortly digress into chaos
Note to self:
Sprinting through this marathon
is exhausting

Eighteenth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

You are the niggling voice
in my conscience
that I am only now getting
used to hearing clearly
When its quiet up there
But sometimes loud and clear like thunder
You stand with me at the edge of this
unknown crossroads
when I don’t believe I am worthy
or lovable
or stand a chance
and hold that space for me
which is holy and untouchable
both when I can’t and when I can

Seventeenth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo

You’ve been a part of my life
so long
without being in it
a ghost
that I keep alive
It’s better for us both
if I let you rest in peace
the only thing is, I’ll have to learn how

Sixteenth poem of 30 for NaPoWriMo