Pink

See how I have returned to you:

Bright and flushed and new!

You who have trusted

The prophecy

Of each potential bloom,

Have had your faith rewarded.

Why weep

Or wonder

Or worry

About how long

I will stay?

Pink is

By nature

Impermanent.

But while it lasts,

It saves.

Compassion

It does not

Reach down

And dole itself out

From a distance

It walks in

And sits close

And refuses to look away

It is not nice

It is not safe

When it invites me

To put my hand

In its side

And dash my foot

On its rocks

I am afraid

Its movement

Is the labor

Of the eternal Mother

Who pushes

And tears

The veil

Between

self

and

other

Self-Care

Woman Leaving the Bath, Picasso

I know I promised that I would stop

marinating in my own juices

but instead I’ve decided

to turn over and soak

face-down

until I am

good and

pickled

in my

own

delicious

self-pity

and then I will

fling my saturated

self onto the grill, forcing

you to hear the sizzle and pop

and hiss of my righteously injured flesh

I felt a clearing in my mind

I felt a clearing in my mind, and found my brain at rest

And thoughts that once had clamored there sat happily unexpressed

The words I’d anchored to my thoughts broke loose, began to rise  

As I stretched out and watched them float like clouds across the sky

***

This is a response to today's NaPoWriMo prompt:
Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it!

I chose I felt a Cleaving in my Mind.

Party Girl

image courtesy of www.guggenheim.org

Picasso Head of a Woman, Right Profile

I guess it’s too late
To be the last one to leave 
To never know what it’s like
To have the need
To sneak out early
Rise up in my throat
Like a gag reflex
That I struggle
To suppress

I guess it’s too late

To look out into a sea

Of unfamiliar faces

And not fear drowning

To be buoyed

By the waves

And ride the tide of chatter

Without feeling washed up

And smaller

I guess it’s too late

To fix my face

So it doesn’t flush

So goddamn easily

When they tell me

To loosen up a little

Have a good time

And just try

To smile