Poetry

Self Critic v Writer's Self

Positive Intent

Self-Critic

A Family to Support
Loss is all around

Why is it here?

Financial dependance, you’re weak

Dreams are just that… dreams

So far out of reach

Writing is for diaries, not careers

Get something dependable

Your family depends on it

It’s not worth it

You’re not worth it

Writer Self

My Family Supports Me

Loss brings us together

Happening all around us

Financial stability, a lucky trait

Dreams are worth having

An opportunity to start over

An open book

Write, write again, and keep writing

My family supports me

It’s absolutely worth it

My dreams are worth it

My hand hovers over the horn, I slam on my brakes

This idiot driver cut me off

But what if there’s a choking dog in the backseat, rushing to the vet

My hands returns to 10 and 2

The wash goes in the dryer but my husbands clothes are still there

A scowl paints across my face

But what if he chose to cook me dinner last night instead of folding his clothes

I place his clothes in the laundry basket

My phone won’t stop buzzing, my mother, again

My world feels overwhelming, spinning, “I need you”

But what if my out-of-state, single, lonely mom misses me, I miss you too

I breathe // and answer my phone

The dog won’t stop barking out the window, echoing, stinging my ears

Fire burns in my chest, vicious words in my throat

But what if he’s bored, he wants a walk, he needs attention

I swallow and join him in play

“Happy Holidays” the clerk says as I grab my purchases, I half smile

I celebrate Christmas

But what if “Merry Christmas” touches a Jewish girl’s ears, an outcast, I’ve been there

“Happy Holidays to you too”, minimize discrimination, distribute hope

You’re being naive, I’ve been told
Plaquing my character, my identity, my essence

But what if they are mean, bad people, driving recklessly

But what if he doesn’t care, you can do it

But what if you’re being stepped on, taken advantage of

But what if you’re a bad mom that lacks control

But what if people don’t give a shit about you or what you celebrate…

I refuse to carry unnecessary hate in my heart

Warn Out and Used

Twice Sticken

The Blue Table - A Sestina

Double dents in the cushions made by extra weight

Fingerprints warn from years of yearning

Knick knack knick knack knick knack

Words our own, an off set tune

Used hoodie stolen with holes in the sleeves

Under new management

Lavender and Coneflower. Salt and Honey

Peeled raw, the rarest black nebula carrot

Genial air biscuits fill the warm air

Phenomenal cosmic power

Scratching your palms until my last scratch

Somber clock strikes four in the morning, crisscross on our red Aztec rug

Ring fingers newly bare, we share a look as strangers

Wearing a borrowed dress, tryna be Monica

Spinning in circles in my unlit, basement apartment

Words from earbuds, ascending within me

I can dance myself into the next phase of my life

You’re shoving me off the bed, but I straddle you anyway

I take the bus to you, to watch the side of your face

I wear U of W gear, eat vegan for you, it’s all for naught

You’re texting her, those fingers that used to grab my hair

As a customer approaches us, I wonder if they can see her face on mine too

We sit at the table, covered in blue

paint, a project we completed a couple

years ago. I stare at my full plate

of food I made for us, the way to your heart.

There’s trepidation in my head. I ignore

it as I stare at your face. My place is at this table, right?

I slowly lift the fork to my mouth, right

as you meet my eye. I blow

you a kiss, as we used to do, but you ignore

my attempt to be a couple

again which slowly drains my heart

half empty, just like the half-eaten meal on my plate.

Our dinner conversation is as flat as this plate.

My curiosity gets the best of me as I ask if you’re alright.

You say, yes, of course, but your heart

isn’t in it like it used to be. I feel blue

and mourn our life as a couple

because this trepidation cannot be ignored.

I know you feel it too but choose to ignore

it, like the onions on your plate.

I know you don’t like onions, coupled

with the fact I know you feel this music isn’t right.

I don’t care anymore, as I look down, the blue

table staring back, heavy as my heart.

The rushing thoughts in my head are starting to match my heart-

beat as you finish and start to rinse, ignoring

my needs once again, wiping the blue

table of crumbs as I lift my not-quite empty plate

in the air and set it back down, as you stand to my right

like you did on our wedding day, when we were a couple.

I build up the courage and ask you to set down the couple

of salt and pepper shakers from our registry, breathing to calming my heart.

For a long time, I say, this hasn’t felt right.

You respond with a sigh and gently respond, this cannot be ignored

any longer, it’s gone on long enough. You clear off our plated

silverware from the table as my confidence builds which was once blue.

This feels right, I whisper to myself as I leave my life behind, no longer coupled.

The blue table sits on its side in the Uhaul, soon to haul me into my new life, my new heart.

Don’t ignore trepidations, my new motto, as I drive off in my SUV, new and plated.

Silence reverberates throughout my brain

Darkness divides the day with expectations

Sifting through my agenda, my dog gently breathes. Focus.

Ring Song

Pick Choose

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Sitting up in space, swimming through chowder

Sputter fills my throat with rollercoaster aftermath

Darkness forges hesitation in my bones

Silence reverberates throughout my brain

Shuffle favored syncopation

Soulful sax, shhh

The sibilant sound of blues rests on my features

Susurrus piano pushes the rest of my exertion

shh, shh, shh

Sounds of Sleep