we shop for textiles, fabric and thread
as if it is the only thing we have to discuss
we pore over colors, cut shapes of disjointed edges
and I ignore how our bodies aren’t the same
you teach me patterns, flowers, log cabins, strips connecting
and pretend not to read what I write about the world
we align the squares, sewing them with articulate stitches
denying how much work it will take to make them fit
blue veins of your hands come through your skin clear now
I am afraid when I look at my brown fingers, of what will tear us apart.
but we stitch and iron and hum with this strong thread
cover the floor we sit on with laughter as I pull out a crooked stitch
and re-do it, tighter.
Prompt: write a poem that incorporates a hobby.
so we decided to take down the garden
for years after she died
my brother and I continued to meet
four times a year on the farm
clearing away brush, weeds and dead snails
my mothers hands on both of our minds
shoveling manure to spread evenly over
the deliberate rows of lettuce, squash and pumpkin
singing aloud to the cherry trees and grapevines
her voice is a witching song
every season it lulls me back to the forest
pulls life from seeming cold stems
making black gold from blackberry vines
that grow rich on the side of the fence
my brother watches me out of the corner of his eyes
struggling with the weight of the tree trunks
crying as the songs do not come
his hand is warm over mine as he takes the axe from me
and lays it down, next to the husk this apple tree has become
overgrown and unkempt.
Prompt: Take the phrase “So we decided to (blank)” and fill in the blank. Make that your title and write a poem.
**this is a future casting. my mother is alive and kicking it in her garden.
the problem is
on days when the couch bed pushes back
leaves me stiff and strangled by loose blankets
I deliberately miss the formality of matching sheets
on the bed in the room that sits empty
and pass out into sleep front of the television
computer humming safely in the background
on these days
I would take any kiss from you
even if it means I am
a quilted pattern of darkness
descends on her nights
she wanders about
stubs her toes on chairs that
in the blackness
carry unknown shapes
afraid to flip on the lights
so she’ll see how empty the house
over and over
she ducks imaginary bats caused
by flickering street lights on her ceiling
not wanting to disturb what may fly around
and land in her dreams
cursing as her feet slam up against the wood
she stumbles back to the bed
to stare into the blue light coming through
slits of metal on the window
so sleep eventually will come.
I’m officially on a 15 day fast from facebook. I hope nobody tries to email me there and expect me to respond.
Its National Poetry Month and I’ve taken the challenge of writing one “poem a day” for the thirty days of April.
The PAD (poem a day) has been a great exercise for me in focus and also revisiting my love of expression. I’ve been posting my poems on facebook, but since I’m on a fast from its time sucking devilishness, I’ll be continuing my PAD commitment by posting my poems here. I’m actually behind and playing catch up on my PAD’s! here are my April 8 and April 9 pieces. April 10 and 11 to follow asap!
April 9 PAD
the poetry reading
paper burning in the background
her journal ripped apart
shreds of the thick paper
on the hard wood floor
in the hall leading her like
petals down the aisle
she shakes her head
there are so many lovers
grief in her eyes as she
notices him asleep in the corner
flames shadowing his invasion
under this full moon
he is no more than a boy
her hair falls against her shoulder
a reminder of his fingers
before the poems opened up a crack
in the solitude of their
relief to find one another
she shakes her head
knows its time to leave
and pulls her curls back into a knot
before trying to paste the pages
burnt and covered with soot.
April 8 PAD
you stand at the shoreline
asking for forgiveness
yeymaya doesn’t chide you
she simply waits
washes her hair, sighing
remembering when you brought flowers
and a little glad jar of desert earth
to bless your feet as you prayed
first breath of the joy you discovered
her kisses, tongue and neck
you start forward
toes clenching onto broken shells
that cut into your toes
blood forging shapes into the water
floating like lily pads then
dissipating into brown froth
hoping she will see your
purge, and beg her for
I woke up this morning to good news. I am so thankful that the best interests of the child are now being taken seriously! Im SO thankful, and for me this is a message that acknowledges adoptees, adoptee researchers and professionals who continue to aruge that we need to change the face and meaning of adoption! Why is adoption always about removal when someone thinks they know best for a child? This daughter of Malawi now has the gift of her grandmother, the gift of her culture, her country, her race, her community. I am thankful.
Madonna’s adoption rejected by Malawian judge
(CNN) — Madonna’s petition to adopt a second Malawian child was rejected by a local judge Friday, an official said.
“The decision came down to residency requirement and the fact that the judge believes she was being well taken care of in the orphanage,” said Zione Ntaba, a spokeswoman for the Malawi Justice Department.
“For the Malawians, the fact that the child is at an orphanage, is being taken care of and is going through the school education system, that does qualify as the best interests of a child,” Ntaba added.
The 50-year-old pop star had filed a petition to adopt a girl, Chifundo James, 4, whose first name translates to mercy in Chichewa, the country’s national language. She has three other children, including a son she adopted from the southern African nation in 2006.