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.

Breaking The Water

The waters that released you

From my body

Into this world

Had to be broken by a third party

None of us knew how

To make it happen naturally.

To begin your beginning

We had to bring in professionals

And with a stern snap

They punctured the protective membrane

That kept you suspended inside of me.

My insides, it seems,

Required outside intervention

To begin the process

Of pushing  

You out.

Yet once it began,

Your progress was linear:

To join the world,

You had to leave my womb.

There were waves of pain,

Cresting tides

Of trembling and nausea

But then

You went from being unborn

To being born,

From my womb,

To my arms.

But your second release

Seems trickier.

I have even less control

Over the waters that govern this process.

They swirl around our ankles

And shift the ground

Beneath our feet

And make me nostalgic

For the one-way itinerary

Of birthing,

How I wish now

For some outside professional

To puncture the barriers

Of dependence definitively

And release you into

Adulthood:

A break in parental waters

Resulting in your absolute autonomy.

And my role, as in the beginning,

Would be to be the only canal you need,

Rather than the occasional obstacle,

The intermittent interruption

That in your eyes

I so often seem

To be.

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

 

The Astronomer

When my lids drop and close

She remains awake

Studies

Each deepening line

On the surface of my face

Catalogs

The constellations

Of freckles

Traces

Every exploding cluster

And finds them

Precious

Enough

To name