Tenterhooks

sometimes i think
about hanging
swinging from a rope or
something easier like
a leather belt
and a doorknob
and really leaning in

sometimes i think
about drowning
about being the girl
who walks into the water
with rocks in her pockets
because wouldn’t that
be easier for everyone
maybe almost beautiful

sometimes i think
about car accidents
fires
shootings
or the sweet bliss of
a terminal cancer diagnosis

or maybe just
one fucking good reason
besides being a mother
to stay alive

i wait on tenterhooks
and when they say
it gets better
when they say hang on
because they don’t see
these hooks in my back
holding me up
i must turn away and
tune them out
because
how can you not see
these hooks in my back

how can you not see
that hanging on is
the strongest
bravest
most selfless thing
i have ever done

i will walk barefoot in winter

Photo by ME! - Cheney Meaghan

we are
getting closer
to that time of year
it won’t be appropriate
for me to come to you
for comfort

if i do
people will be apt to stare
and maybe even call the police
if my coat looks too heavy
if they think i’m carrying rocks
and not sea glass

but for now
i’ll still go
i won’t make eye contact
with the normal boardwalk strollers
as i kick of my shoes and socks
and step down into the sand

because i just don’t care
what you think anymore

i will walk barefoot
in winter
past the gates suggesting
i keep out
but i won’t keep out
i have never been one
to heed signs or suggestions

because i don’t care anymore
and i know sometimes i need
the sting of broken shells
and rocks and glass and the unlucky
fish hook in my heel
and obviously i need the sting
of the water in the winter

but shh, listen, i’ll tell you
one of my favorite little secrets
to the water, it isn’t winter yet
the water holds in its sun sparkle
the remaining warmth of the months
it was bathed in starfire

shh,
i don’t care anymore
i’ll walk barefoot
into the water in winter

it’s only December now
we have
such a long ways to go

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

– JK Rowling

“MOM!”

MOM!

not like a question
never a polite request, and
no more sweet milky whispers
that tantalized, not terrorized the ears

MOM!

like a hammer
like your voice is a hammer
and I am your nail, every hit
harder than the last one,
the percussive jolt through
the drums inside me –
my ears are crying blood tears

MOM!

it’s too much sometimes, baby,
you know, after a while
(like a decade)
it actually starts to hurt
to realize that even if I listen well,
I’m still never enough

 

Written for the Daily Post – thanks for the inspiration, WordPress!

 

I found this poem and love it, but I don’t know its name*

Advice to Myself*

Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don’t even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in through the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.

-Louise Erdrich

* I found the name of the poem! How apt, that it’s Advice to Myself. What a beautiful poem. The Poetry Foundation website has a great bio and bunch of other selected poems by Louise Erdrich, take a look!

On Medium This Week (so far)

Here’s what I wrote on Medium when I wasn’t here:

This is the Beginning of Writing About Me

– wherein I state for probably the hundredth time online that yes, I am indeed ready to write about my life on the internet, even though the thought of it still makes me feel pukey.

It’s the Freelance Life for Me

– wherein I write about how I’m never going to have a boss again, even though I am not sure how exactly I am going to accomplish that, yet.

Burn Me

– a sexy little Haiku I submitted to a new publication of Haiku poets that was gracious enough to accept me to their ranks.

I’m all over the place these days, but if I remember, I am going to post my Medium links here so throughout the week so it kind of sort of maybe feels like I am real blogger somewhere. 

If you’re kind enough to take a gander and click, please be sure to give me some claps on the article, or share them on social media if you enjoyed them!