Rage (NaPoWriMO Day 5)

My spring softening
froze over upon seeing
deer eat my tulips


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Relief (NaPoWriMo Day 4)

When the grass

On the path to the

River turns green

Everything in me

Loosens and releases, finds relief

In knowledge that

I have a

Solid, straight place to put

My feet and

A way forward

Without risk of injury or

Muddy, demeaning grief

NaPoWriMo Prompt 4
Today’s optional prompt is to write a lune. A lune is a sort of English-language variation on the haiku, meant to better render the tone of the Japanese haiku than the standard 5-7-5 format we all learned (and maybe loved) in elementary school. There are a couple of variants on the lune form, but just to keep things simple, let’s try the version developed by Jack Collum. His version of the lune involves a three-line stanza. The first line has three words. The second line has five, and the third line has three. You can write a poem that consists of just one stanza, or link many lune-stanzas together into a unified poem. Happy writing!

Omen (NaPoWriMo Day 3)

Every spring a bird

Flies into the glass of my bathroom window

Over and over and over

I am sure there is a lesson in this for me somewhere

A metaphor for my life, maybe

But I don’t have time to figure it out

So I guess

I will just

Keep on doing

What I’ve been doing

And hope for the best

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Scraps (NaPoWriMo Day 2)

Jeez, I can’t believe you’re so short!

You say,

As you press your nose to my forehead,

Your hands to my shoulders,

And look down at me.

I feign annoyance,

But press closer, and hope for more.

Starved as I am

For your touch—

I scramble for any scrap of attention

And am not above resorting to cheap tricks to get it,
Like buying you red velvet cupcakes from Fred Meyer
Just to have you put your arm around me and say,

Oh my God, you’re the best mom ever.

It’s pathetic, I know, but you need to understand

What you did for me:

Your birth allowed me to renew

My mommy card for a little longer--

To be assured of kisses and finger paintings

Well into my thirties—

And I am grateful.

As I watch you

Struggle to shrug me off

I know I need to remember

That none of this is your fault.

My inability to untangle

Your growing up

With the winding down
Of my motherhood

Is not your problem.

So I promise to try and suck it up

And forgive you

For no longer being

The boy who runs towards my touch,
And hugs me in front of his friends,

And whispers to me,

Mom even when I am old and married

I promise to still live with you
On weekends so we can hang out.

Arrival (NaPoWriMo Day 1)

The way the river swells and pushes

The way the meadow sits brown and heavy

The way I switch with distrust from wool socks to cotton

The way the trailhead parking lot overflows on Sundays

The way ice gives way to mud and makes the hikers giddy

The way my face craves affection,

And turns with gratitude

To the stingy, sometimes-blue sky.

Resolutions Made at the Little Spokane River on My 45th Birthday

To walk.

To watch.

To write.

To know the precise green of the pines.

To be like the meadow and hold—

            then release—

            all in good time.

To avoid hunching my shoulders

            and clenching my teeth.

To sit in front of a candle,

            be still,

            and breathe.

And upon signs of confusion

            see above

            and repeat.

March Grass

There is a terrible tenderness in March grass

In the bare and the grey

In the defeated way

It lays flat

After the weight

Of snow

I walk gingerly

Around it

Stay on the asphalt

But still

I feel its dryness in

The cracks in my hands

And the lines around my eyes

And I know

It’s a sign

That I should sit

On the fencepost

And stay

But instead I deny it—

Three times—

And walk away