I have been in such a funk I didn’t even realize my last poem went out in July. thx for sticking around while I defunkify my life
How to Do Absolutely Nothing
by Barbara Kingsolver
Rent a house near the beach, or a cabin but:
Do not take your walking shoes.
Don't take any clothes you'd wear anyplace anyone would see you.
Don't take your rechargeables.
Take Scrabble if you have to, but not a dictionary and no pencils for keeping score.
Don't take a cookbook or anything to cook.
A fishing pole, ok but not the line, hook, sinker, leave it all.
Find out what's left.
the art of noticing
I tried meditating for the first time in my life which is soooo dumb to type out loud and I understand that (!!!!) given that I have been in therapy for 10 years and understand the benefits of it. We tried yoga in high school which I laugh at now because there was no way I could let my mind go in a gym with my peers like that, nor did I even understand what it meant. It did come to mind though, so it left some sort of imprint.
I was on the balcony off our bedroom yesterday and it was warm, really warm, so within the metal bars I was cooking like a chicken cutlet. We’ve already changed the clocks so I’m trying to stay on top of my seasonal depression by forcing photosynthesis.
I set a timer for 15 minutes and found some sound bath playlist on Spotify. I heard all the horns throughout but it didn’t distract me.
When I opened my eyes, I saw things I had never seen before. I saw the way the light filtered through the leaves and knew the Japanese have a name for this. Laundry on my neighbors’ clothesline. The sound of their dishes as they put them away. A wasp. Everything washed in blue. I heard a voice clear in my head like the voice of God. You have the opportunity to see things differently. I don’t know what it meant, but those are the words that came to me like a whistle.
Last night when I slept, and had vivid dreams of standing in a dark bar on a cold night, with a rush of frigid air coming around the bend toward the table where I stood and a bell ringing every time I knew someone else had come in. I was waiting for somebody to arrive. It might have been New Years. And I was happy in the cold.
no pencils
by me
this time I find reached against a forever tide
something unhuman as a hand
with veins but not seams pains and no dreams
I’d have never seen unless you asked
never chanced it had the die not been cast
like a fish sees the hook but never clocks the line
I was rowing to the catch in double time
wanting to know what you’d be thinking of last
and is it what you saw before
and how much loss does memory turn to lust
if there’s nothing left to keep the score?