December - Poem 28
Sciatica 3- The Version Grimm / Kate Bowers
For Mae and Lane
This back of mine I think I know
Until it brings me very low
A right-angle drooping sheer as fear
Looking like a horse at plow
My neighbors indeed look askance
Each time I take a forward stance
No longer high and lofty like my cakes
They bought each year for every dance
They give their hatted heads a shake
Attempt to foreswear a similar fate
As if that is their promise not to keep
No osteoporosis, no joints replaced
Sadly,
Every Gretel and Hansel will come to weep
Against the witch’s promise reaped
That all but the sacrum burns to a heap
Of ashen promises we never intend to keep
Those winds we bend to, the debt still deep.
That sacrum though?
It still will beat.
Grief / Katie Collins
Cold bath water
Shivering flesh
Popcorn ceilings staring down
The walls are distant memories
You cannot stand
You cannot leave
There's a familiar weight
Pressing down on you
Holding you in this moment
You flesh raises into goosebumps
But even the towel
One arm's reach away
Is too far
When you're suffocating
For Christmas My Father Sent Me a Man / Ellen Ferguson
I asked my father for a man like him.
A mysterious message landed.
"Your package will be delivered January 27," it said.
I hadn't ordered anything, except that guy from my Dad.
On January 27 another message came.
"We're sorry, there are weather-related delivery changes. May 9 is your new delivery date."
On May 9, my birthday, I looked on my porch.
There you were.
"January 27?" I said.
"Yes, May 9," you said.
Package delivered,
Mission accomplished,
We went inside.
The Legend of the Red Thread / Chris Fong Chew
Do you see it? If you look hard enough you can see it.
Twisting, turning, wrapping around trees, around plants,
a thin thread that follows along the path
of life, your journey throughout the world.
It is said that fate tied a knot
the moment you were born. A red thread
connecting you to another person in this world.
Do you see it? Do you believe in this tale?
Along the way this thread may tangle
trap other people in its long fibers
wrap around trees and plants and animals
create a journey that weaves and spins
across this earth.
Some may follow it, few will ever find its end.
But if you see a red thread, bowed neatly
to your hand, follow it, and perhaps you will uncover
something wondrous on the other end.
Almost/Not Quite a Canto/a Cento / Victor Barnuevo Velasco
An enemy among spies: moving gingerly.
A landscape of superbloom. Sudden sprays
Of shrapnel: Red poppies everywhere.
From Florida to California, I-10 stretches:
A belt of sunshine: A border within a border.
Trucks and vans piled: Walls keep moving.
Across the panhandle, the power surges. Lights
Exploding. No distinction among shadows.
Some stalk; some hide: All darkness.
Nothing matters but: the quality of: love/mercy:
Is not strained: In the end. Don’t you – too -- find
This commingling of wisdom injudicious? Injurious?
Anyway, let us now price/praise Paradise/Famous Men:
A way out/a way in. The Barbarians are at the gates:
On both sides. The gates are wide shut/wide open.
Little deaths. / Jen Wagner
I am not afraid of death
I die a bit every day
Although they are little deaths
It mars me all the same.
I am not afraid of death
It comes with every choice I make
In these deaths I leave behind
The parts of me I cannot take.
I am not afraid of death
I welcome her with open arms
I know where we are going
I know its worth the scars
I am not afraid of death
At times I seek her out
I revel in her wisdom
I surrender all my doubt.
I am not afraid of death
But sometimes I try to hide
In the darkness, It’s odd to think
but those little deaths are my light.
I am not afraid of death
She will burn it all for me
To illuminate the paths
I myself cannot see.
I am not afraid of death
Until it’s you she wants
You can’t see what is waiting
But I do.
Just hold on.
These little deaths…
They are a gift
And someday you will see.
You too will welcome her
and rise again. Like me.
I am not afraid of death.
But it’s her sister for whom I fight. .
Because every little death I suffer
Takes me closer to my light.
I have died so many times.
And always I’m reborn
With every little death I grow stronger
Than I ever was before.
So no. I am not afraid of death.
She is my closest friend.
And with every little death I thank her
Until we meet again.
Nothing Lasts / Stacy Walker
If I’m being honest,
I’m tired of writing poems.
Every time my pen hits the page,
It feels silly,
Pointless,
Like it’s already been said
Or I don’t want to say it.
I don’t want to write about the depths,
My words don’t seem like enough,
A few scribbles on a page
In smooth, black ink,
Drawn into shapes that are letters,
Can’t possibly contain all
That’s inside.
It would take so many scribbles
Of words on pages,
Filling notebook after notebook,
And quite frankly,
I don’t have the energy
Or the time.
I think I’ve plowed through
Enough darkness,
Maybe I can stay in the light,
On the surface
For a while,
I could write about the simple things,
Ya, maybe I’ll simply observe
My daughter’s little body
Curled up under the dusty, pink comforter,
Nestled into the pile of pillows
And my side,
As she reads,
Enthralled in the story
Inside a little chapter book
With a purple cover.
She’s only just started it
As we lay down for the night,
And I know I’m in for it
Because once she’s begun
And found herself in another world,
Imagination running free,
I’ve lost her for a while,
Pleading for one more chapter,
One more page.
But tonight,
We have time,
It’s the weekend,
It’s the holidays,
And we’re so snuggled up,
And I wonder how long
It will take her to finish –
I could just stay here
Until then.
And I see that the surface of my life
Takes me to the depths daily,
Delivering moments
That threaten to destroy me
If I think too hard.
So yes, I’ll stay here on the surface
For a while,
Because I know it won’t last
Forever.
