It isn’t comfortable or kind
and it doesn’t live in your chest.
or your head.
It doesn’t belong to logic
It isn’t grey or blue
and it isn’t light shades of pink
it isn’t pastel anything
it’s not a tint you know how to name.
It doesn’t sound like strings
or wind instruments
can’t be played out on keys
doesn’t belong to the bells.
It doesn’t live in the city,
or on any mountain peak.
It can’t be found on casual strolls
down side city streets.
Of course it is something, it has a title,
though, I’ve forgotten how to pronounce it.
couldn’t even sound it out,
buried it too deep to remember.
prompt found on NaPoWriMO
Two conversations, in which my tone was terse and bedtime ready. I had been dodging their idonwannnagetreadyforbed volleys for going on an hour — Robotically getting them cleaned, and dressed, and attending to their oral hygiene — I tucked them in – Gave them appropriate cover, and handed over perfunctory kisses. When all seemed settled, I started turning lights off around the apartment and discovered — Read the rest of this entry
This morning I find,
Another one left my house.
I really hate squirrels.
The summer after my freshmen year in college — I was – lost. I didn’t know where I was going, and even though I knew what I wanted, I couldn’t have it. That year I became one of the only first-years in college, to drop fifteen pounds, even though, I had worked since January, full-time, at an Olive Garden. That summer, on nights off, I wanted for everything. And so, when I was alone, I would get in my car, and drive. Coffee in the cup holder, and a pack of cigarettes in the passenger seat, and just drive, till the restlessness subsided Read the rest of this entry
When your cooking mojo returns –
when it returns it will be sometime near midnight,
on a Thursday,
there will be vegetables that were picked by someone you know,
just a few days earlier.
They are leftover from a dinner, where you were reminded that you feed people.
And at nearly midnight, on the day before Friday, you will have to make ratatouille.
Because it’s been six months that you’ve let other people feed you,
and it’s time that you start getting acquainted with your kitchen.
Remind yourself, how well you can move in this space,
how you yield utensils and knives
with grace some people reserve for dancing.
When you sit down to eat, you will not
be the kind of full of you were hoping for.
But, you won’t be nearly as hungry.
For my boys, I sing,
our Kitchen, my only stage.
Refrains bring us sleep.
If early bedtime-
Means waking before the dawn,
A night owl I’ll be.
I should be grading. But I’m seeing essays even when I close my eyes, so I’m taking a break. I’m trying to get things organized around here — by around here, I mean on the site. I’ve got some fun things in the works in terms of writing for this summer — so I’m trying to make things always workable — which I know they aren’t always now. Read the rest of this entry
-As told to me by my favorite English professor, Regina Barecca in her modern British lit course, and The Lumineers in their song, Stubborn Love.
The flip side of love
Is not hate. That is just your
Long before you show,
I can hear your thundering.
Clear as my own heart.