July 31

 

July 31,

Another month coming to an end,

a new month soon to begin.

Time goes by,

Life cycles on,

Up and down,

up and down.

Climb and coast,

climb and coast.

Check the watch,

check the calendar.

Tomorrows have become yesterdays,

Todays never stay.

Another day,

another month.

Working through a season,

working through a year.

Orbiting the sun,

playing peak-a-boo with the moon.

July 31,

Summer in the northern hemisphere.

Heat waves and monsoons,

fires and floods.

Fireworks and parades,

road trips and flights.

Garage sales, 

back to school shopping.

Is it really almost August?

The symbolic end of summer,

even though

the calendar says

Summer has another seven weeks

before it gives way to fall.

 

All this talk

Poem in three parts, two of which are too personal for me to feel comfortable publishing here.

Part two:

All this talk about

 acceptance,

  understanding,

   love, 

Scares me.

In my experience,

  People aren’t that accepting

   People don’t understand you the way you want them to,

    Love comes in many forms,

     Some of which seem to contradict

     What love should be.

Dusk and Dinner

 

As I eat my dinner at the dining room table,

no lights on,

watching the colors of the sky,

I wonder if anyone else

sits inside

and refuses to turn on the light,

even though it is too dark to read,

too dark to cook or clean,

Because a light would

erase the view

of beige houses turning gold

in the yellow light of dusk. 

Turning on the light

would make it difficult to appreciate

the disappearing clouds, 

the pinks and purples

created from moisture in the air.

The late afternoon rain only lasted a few minutes

but a rainbow lingered, 

a teaser for the color show soon to come.

Dusk.

Dinnertime.

A few more minutes and it will be dark enough outside

that I will need to turn on the lights

inside.

She needs, She is

Yeah, yeah, yeah, what was that you're thinking, you said to me, you said about me? I don't care. Your problem, not mine.

She needs, She is

She hears imaginary voices

saying things like:

Identity crisis.

Midlife crisis.

She doesn’t know what she’s saying,

She’s lost,

She’s lost it,

She needs guidance,

She needs help,

She needs

She needs

She needs.

Why doesn’t she hear

things like:

She’s what she wants to be,

She’s where she wants to be,

She has faith in herself,

She knows her heart,

She is happy,

Stop with the jealousy,

Leave her alone.

 

Racing Heart

 Do not be still, my heart.

My Heart

The doctor is monitoring my heart.

I try not to think about the patch

  on my chest,

But I can’t forget to bring the phone with me

  everywhere.

It needs to be near enough

  to receive the signal.

I begin to wonder,

Have I imagined a random, racing heart,

and random chest pains?

Part of me hopes so.

But it’s good to know for sure.

I’m glad there’s a way to see

  if there’s something going on.

I’m of that age

when you need to be aware,

when doctors pay attention to every word you say,

  and order tests

  they might not consider if you were younger.

And that is why I have

an orange phone in my pocket,

Recording signals

from the patch above my heart.

At home there’s a box,

a booklet of instructions, 

extra patches,

and a charger 

  with an orange cord for the phone

  and a black cord for the sensor.

I also have a UPS envelope to send everything back in four weeks.

Besides the physical items,

I have hope

  that all is well

  and this will be four weeks of monitoring

nothing abnormal.

Blister

 inspired by, well, you can probably guess what inspired this one.

Blister

If this blister pops

while I’m wearing shoes

my sock is going to be a mess.

Big toe,

Left foot.

Big blister.

Still walking,

Still running.

The blister grows bigger,

thriving on the pressure.

Flirting with the possibility of a 

painful, messy disaster,

And wondering,

Is this blister a metaphor for life?

Look in the Eye

 A poem for my daughters. Lately I've been responding to FB posts and comments I used to ignore. Why? Does it do any good? Does it make it worse? Will it change someone's mind? Will my speaking up have a positive effect? I don't know. I just find it hard to keep my mouth shut every time.

Look in the eye

I want to be able to look my daughters in the eye

And not be ashamed for what I didn’t say or do.

If that means saying things other people don’t want to hear,

If that means saying things people don’t understand,

If that means being labeled or called names,

Being damned to an eternity in hell

(whatever that means)

I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with people being revolted by my thoughts

I’m okay with people disagreeing

I’m okay with people not understanding that I 

Don’t care what they think.

I’m okay with people’s horrified looks

I’m okay with being assaulted with vitriol

  written and verbal.

I’m okay with people showing their prejudices and fear

I’m okay with putting myself out there

I’m willing to be judged

by people who have no stake in my life

Because by judging they are showing

 that they don’t understand,

 and perhaps they don’t really care about,

   the true meaning of love.

I’m not going to fight

  with slurs, judgment, and hate.

I’m not going to fight.

I’m not going to give up.

I’ll speak my truth.

I’ll speak from my heart.

I’ll speak

  out.

I’ll stand up for my rights.

I’ll stand up against wrongs.

I’ll look my daughters in the eye.

And if I’m lucky,

  we will march together.

And maybe someday,

  we won’t need to march anymore.

 

Blowing up and numb

The World and Personal Stuff

The world keeps blowing up

Every month there’s something going on

 that boggles your mind.

Disappoints, hurts, 

Gets your emotions running high.

At this point,

  many people, including me,

  feel numb.

Crazy and scary is becoming the norm,

Death and destruction are becoming the norm.

My personal tribulations,

  in contrast to the world issues,

  seem 

    small

      selfish

        trivial.

My personal life seems

  irrelevant 

  in the scheme of things.

Nothing that happens to me

  is insurmountable.

Nothing I do 

  effects the course of the world.

My personal stuff

  won’t even be a footnote

  In history.

 

Crying Thoughts

Two poems about crying

#1 June 30, 2022, Canyonlands

I cried on my hike today,

for the beauty that overwhelmed me

for how lucky I am to be able to be here

for all the people who will never experience this first-hand.

If these rocks could speak

If these trees and bushes and cactus and grass and dirt

could tell us what they’ve seen,

what they’ve endured,

If they could explain the past

and how we got to the present,

If they could predict the future.

If they could exist forever.

#2 July 7, 2022

Sometimes I cry when I’m happy

Sometimes I cry when I’m sad

I don’t apologize for it anymore.

Overheard while walking around the courthouse. A young woman sitting on a bench with an older woman who could have been her grandmother or her great-grandmother or a co-worker or a friend.

Plane Thoughts 7.6.2022

Airports and flying present lots of opportunity for eavesdropping, intentionally and accidentally.

#1

Here's to 

Connecting

Reconnecting

Picking up the conversation where we left off 

Unfinished business

New business

New beginnings

Finishing what we started

Figuring out where to go from here.

Here's to nothing.

Here's to everything.

 

#2
Wax and wane,

 drinks on a plane,

  the volume rises.

Crossing and uncrossing the legs,

  words and laughter,

    bits and pieces penetrate

  neighbor’s earpods.

      I get that you're married

      Pause.

      I agree

      Pause.

      We just exchanged information.

Turn the volume down, 

please.