“It was supposed to rain Yesterday, but it never Did. The clouds were all there, But they refused to cleanse the earth. The sky grew dark much earlier And the world stayed up out of spite. Televisions tuned in, Scrolling on smartphones and switching Between tabs, refreshing, Double-checking for an update On the fate of a country’s Power-possessor. President. The red bar rose, racing the blue. If only it were only colors competing. Minutes passed by, and hours, Nothing changing except The amount of hope left. Reality left red rashes on cheeks. Each time a piece of news was released, We added it to the tally Of unexpected losses. President. Vice President. House. Senate. What law will pass first? We fell asleep Afraid of what would come When we would wake up. This morning, the sun shone Like shining was all it knew how to do, As we on Earth no longer knew what to do. In warm and windy air, we wandered In a strange state of temporary ignorance. Two more months. Two more months of this, Though it is too close to helplessness To call it ignorance’s bliss.”— Sometimes reality doesn’t hit until it’s too late.
swimming in circles
welcome to my mind
I sit by the pond just outside of the city, not quite out in the desert, reading a poem and a crane flies in front of me, steps in the pond, and swallows a fish before I can blink.
The moon glows like a pearl under a spotlight in a jewelry store. The darker patches look like the continents, like it’s reflecting the Earth in shades of silver.
The rainbow sky wraps around the pond and I imagine it’s a lake and ignore the palm trees and pretend the dragonflies are fireflies, and for a second, I’m back home in Michigan, at the lake, waiting for the bugs to come out to tell me it’s time to go in.
If I were in Michigan, there’d be a breeze now, and then I’d shiver and pull my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands. But this is Arizona, so I’m in a tank top and still sweating. This isn’t exactly the warmth I was looking for, but I’m finding it more and more in people these days.
I must be doing something right.
Alone Together. March 27, 2020.
Ignorance is only bliss for the ignorant.
For the rest of the world, it’s a barrier.
Riding on a rock,
Attached at the feet and heart,
We spin together.
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[Clicking on the image might make it less blurry for some reason]
Four Thorns
I
was told I would wear
a ring on my finger when I grow up.
The ring would show commitment
to love. But when I look at rings,
all I see are thorns.
The first thorn would cut
travel out of my life.
I would be expected to settle down
in a cookie-cutter house and live
like the rest of them,
in a prescribed career for a prescribed
amount of years.
The second thorn would cut
my personality like trimming
a bush, so that I am smoothed out on the edges
because love requires sacrifice.
The third thorn would cut
into my patience,
and the fourth would cut
him out of my life. Divorce
is prescribed too, now, isn’t it?
A commitment to love and comfort is easy,
but I see no comfort
in the thought of becoming comfortable
in Everyone’s shoes.
how do i adult aka my recent google searches
Can a ukulele be left in the cold
Can you eat tortillas after expiration date
Do you leave seeds in zucchini for bread
What are the insides of lunch boxes made of
What are the symptoms of the flu
What causes stroke
What determines if a student is dependent
What does cost of living index mean
What generation am i
What is bitcoin
What questions to ask your interviewer
What US state should i live in
When are taxes due
Where to exchange bills for coins
Why lease a car
How big is an acre
How long does zucchini last
How to boil broccoli
How to grow a pineapple
How to jump a car
How to know what kind of light bulb i need
How to open a bottle of wine
Is gif a word
Every winter,
The skin on my hands wrinkles
And cracks like thin ice.
My mom packs up the beach bag
While we paint our skin
With sunscreen. She grabs
The wagon and we walk
To the beach.
……
I dart out of the lake
And race to my towel,
Wrapping myself in it
And kicking back on the bench
Under direct sunlight.
Only minutes pass before drops
Of lake water are replaced by sweat.
My mouth dries out, but the heat
Stole my energy, so I lie
On the bench and ask my mom
To bring me water.
A few gulps in, I stop when I hear
A familiar song in the distance.
My brother and I glare at each other.
“Irish funeral music!”
We laugh and run to get some cash,
Making guesses as to why
Our ice cream truck driver
Chooses to play that song.
“Maybe it’s the only one that isn’t copyrighted.”
“Maybe his hearing is messed up
and he thinks it sounds happy!”
We dash to the road as the old man
Pulls over the truck. He smiles
And hands us our ice cream.
Once he drives away,
We giggle again
And dance to the dark music,
Our bare feet burning on the pavement.
The tired train weaved
Under ground and above ground,
Stitching up the night.
Do you remember Florence ‘17
when we treated ourselves to real
Italian food and our server welcomed
us like family and we drank Prosecco
Do you remember the walk back,
when we wandered through a little park
and under dim streetlights, we gazed at the art
before going river-bound and wound
up back in our hotel room
and the elevator made me dizzy
or maybe it was the Prosecco
Do you remember shaking our heads
when we forgot to buy the bottle opener
so we called your old boyfriend
who told us to use a key
Do you remember that heavy room key
Do you remember spilling the wine
when the cork popped in instead of out
and the wine tinted the white sheets
Do you remember sitting outside
when we finally made it to the balcony
and drank from plastic cups
gazing at the Arno
Do you remember the moonrise
when I said I had never seen it before
and we watched the ball of light float
above the mountains and outline
them like thread and I missed
climbing that mountain by the sea
and I knew I would miss being
out on the balcony, Florence '17,
in perfect weather and perfect lighting
Row 3, seat 2.
I sit down in the plain white room
At the plain white table
And open up my laptop.
I clench my jaw.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
When I open them,
I check the clock on the wall.
Five more minutes.
I tap my fingers on the table,
Shake my leg,
Hunch over,
Rub my hands together for warmth.
I look up over my laptop.
The teacher walks in,
Seemingly sliding over to her table.
Before her, a class of puppets.
When she clears her throat
To talk, she sees a stir—a pull of the strings,
Back to life.
Is the teacher a puppet, too?
A student’s hand is pulled up above
her head.
Like always, after her question,
The teacher says, “That is a good
question. So…”
I start tapping again.
My jaw pops.
I wonder if it is still snowing,
If I have enough soup left for dinner tomorrow,
What having a real job is like,
And how many puppets I will work with.
The rose bushes float me away.
I am watering my mother’s plants.
The dry air is unstiffened by a faint breeze
And all the birds sing their morning hymns.The pine trees tug at my thoughts.
I am riding my bike across a campground
While my father buys more wood for the fire.
My mother calls me back for the picnic lunch.A seagull flaps its wings, sailing and swooping.
I am on a towel on a beach munching on a sandwich.
A seagull snatches my sandwich out of my hands.
I stare in surprise, then I laugh.A black bird with white wings soars toward the sky.
I find myself on a blue park bench
In the Parc de l'Arboretum, wondering
How many other living things I’ve never seen.
If any of you are interested, I have a study abroad blog where I document my semester abroad in France:
https://thevoyagejournal.wordpress.com