NaPoWriMo2020 Poem #14- My Story

 

My Story

…and when you tell my story-

the one where you cast me as the villain-

do you leave out the parts that don’t fit your script?

do you tell them of love and laughing

do you say how large a piece of heart we shared?

do you mention midnight phone calls

and the shoulder that was yours for the asking?

or will that ruin your play-

if they know you loved me as fiercely as I loved you?

you wanted to write a thriller

but wrote a tragedy instead

do they know?

 

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NaPoWriMo-Poem#11 Something Sure

NaPoWriMo Poem #11 of 30

30 Poems in 30 Days for National Poetry Writing Month

Something Sure

Clutter on the counter

Shoes piled at the door

Now it feels like someone lives here

There’s a sense of something more

Someone’s making coffee

Cooking food

And doing chores

Sounds of life around me

Cats are stretched out on the floor

Where there once were plans for someday

Now I’m holding something sure

NaPoWriMo2020 Poem # 9: Just Fine

Poem 9 of 30

Francesco Balsamo Image
Francesco Balsamo Image

Just Fine

 

Overnight,

or was it a decade, I’m not sure

I woke to find this woman in my mirror

it took a moment to find my eyes in hers-

to find the little divot in the front tooth

where Duffy bumped my elbow hard

while I drank a bottle of coke in ’67

a glacial shapeshifting scene unfolds

foreshadowing who is to come

my fine, firm ass has given way

to a tight and toned vocabulary

rising, where my breasts once were

is a warrior who has survived

the breaking of her heart

cancer and the thousand cuts from former family

who worked hard to slice me into small pieces

they could wrap in paper napkins

and sneak into the trash-

being inedible bites to their delicate palettes-

a head of unruly root beer and whiskey hair

has become a thinner landscape

and emerging crown of silver

I don’t know this new woman

yet

or all she is capable of doing

but

I have a feeling

we’re gonna to get along

just fine

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo2020 Poem #6- Isolation: Day 27

Poem #6 of 30

Isolation: Day 27

human movement minimal-

as if everyone but our small tribe

has traveled off planet

and we are left behind

uninvited to what’s happening anywhere else

in isolation

the inner voice yells its agenda

PACE

EAT

CREATE

RESEARCH

do something

do nothing

are they different?

now, in this void of action

left to our own devices

we sit like children

outside the principal’s office

waiting

for a ride home

PicsArt_04-06-11.54.35

 

NaPoWriMo 2020 Poem #3 of 30 –

March 31, 2020- Wednesday morning in Chicago

#3

there were no sirens

no practice drill

to ready us for this

like the vapid teen in the slasher film

another fool swaggers out

into the village taunting the threat

unaware he’s brought the killer home

where it will steal the breath

from his mother’s mother

here- north of the world

in this small village

we don’t feel the cold punch of truth

the city dwellers face

here- we can still pretend there is a place

called “Over There”

where that thing happened one spring

we can still imagine

summer waiting

fresh and clear and lush

with night blooming jasmine

and sweet hammock dreams

on a hot August night

and we are all, still, immortal

in our bathroom mirrors

NaPoWriMo:Poem 1 of 30 – Hello/Goodbye

PicsArt_03-31-10.46.28

Hello/Goodbye

If you had known

before you signed the book-

agreeing to this mortal life-

that you would know

first hand

first heart

what it would be

to rise up out of yourself in ecstacy-

to fold down into yourself in grief-

that you would hand your heart to someone

who would later, hand it back

scarred, with missing pieces-

the only evidence of an entwined life that would,

forever

define love for you…

If you had known

that those two-syllable words

would start your world

and stop it

in the seconds it would take to say them-

would you have said hello

knowing that goodbye was destined?

NaPoWriMo Poem #13: Empty Calendar

Poem #13 of 30

Empty Calendar

Appointments serve as structural dividers that cordon off our days into neatly ordered sections

In the off season
Or in retirement I’d guess
The absence of these structured
Place holders causes days to collapse and run into one another
Like cake batter poured on a plate
That can not hold the volume
Yet we expect it to firm up
Once the heat of the day gets at it.

We find ourselves confused that it’s weekly trash day again
Didn’t that just happen two days ago?

The phone tells us which day this is because we didn’t care enough to cross them off on the wall calendar we never look at.

There’s some rebel, Kerouac shit that rises up in us when we eliminate time commitments

It’s a free range

Confusing beautiful.
Mess.
See you Thursday

Or not

Poetry: NaPoWriMo #2 Freeform- The Train Ride

The Train Ride

He on his train

Me on mine

Same track

Same destination

One hundred fourteen years later-

He was 15 and like his brother and cousin

Braved the ocean passage from the north side of the island

to the dirt streets and crowded immigration buildings of Ellis Island

The hard part still awaited him

The years working at the rail yards-

Carrying a meager sandwich, a partial bottle of wine and an ever present switchblade in his boot that he used for more than cutting apples grabbed from trees along the way

This rough place where boys- almost men – spoke languages foreign even to the foreigners

Working, sweating, laughing, fighting

Finding their way to gathering enough to dare a dream of a home and family

To imagine the unknown future sons who would one day bring the rest of us into this world

Like me-

Moving now on this same track

Also Chicago bound

And imagining an unknown future grandchild who may cover this same ground

In a distinct future

With her own dreams held like this journal

Filled with the promise of more