You are
bleeding scarlet red
an undulating flame
the beat in your veins
loyalty in your skin

You are
drumming for the world
spitting at the sun
grinding down the mountains
making love to this microphone

You are
shimmering gorgeous
mesmerizing
melting salty sweet

You are
bleeding scarlet red
for that is your voice
the razor point of your story

I am
hardly pink
faint vanilla
hint of cinnamon

I am
in love.

I am new here

And you don’t know me

I could be self-important

untalented

brilliant

But I am new here

and so I am unknown.

You are folk artists

Aging beautifully

Carrying your twangs and wandering rhymes in your pockets

tucked in jackets

stuffed with memories

“Remember when we were here?

We loved these mornings

and we wrote this song”

You have clung to your principles

eating your organic chocolate

wearing your second-hand clothes

devoted to your instruments

The calluses on your fingertips speak for you.

I am new here

but I know I don’t belong

My work is blank of memory

My poems babbling infants in this quiet room

My principles are still untested

Laptop keys leave no mark on my skin

but I’ll stand up nonetheless

I am here now

And among your other virtues

I believe you will be kind.

The world ripples and shivers
The world is liquid smooth
The world doubles back
It rises and falls
and I am only now seeing
that this is not the world at all
my sight so shallow and limitless
until now has failed to warn me
that my world is mere reflection
upon a silken sea
these colors steeped in blackness
are not reality
these waves and ripples
aren’t how the world should be
and yet
can I bear to lift my head
raise these half-blind eyes
attempt to absorb true substance
in place of reflective fantasy.

I would so love to be one of those people who go through something hard and bounce back super-quick.  One of those people who is super positive all the time, sees the bright side, enjoys the good weather, all that crap.  I am not one of those people, I take things seriously.  Hurts hurt me for a long time.  There is much poetry and journaling involved in getting over something.  I go through a spectrum of emotions, each with its own pain and redemption and side effects.  No matter how much I wish I could do things differently, that is how I cope with life, and I’ve never figured out a way to do it differently.

Lately I don’t have much to say about the world, which is probably why there hasn’t been much blogging of late.  I’m really hoping this is a phase, because I’m pretty sure that a poet without anything to say about the world is going to be out of a job before long.  That being the case for the moment, I thought I would post one of my coping poems for today and hope for better things by the end of the week.  This is a lovely little number entitled “New Souls.”

To the place of new souls

I will direct my prayers

To the place where you’re waiting

For a body that will work

Perhaps you are right to delay

To wait for one that’s good enough

I already know

That your soul is bright and beautiful

Because I have known you a short time

And I have dreamed of you

When the moon casts light on my sleeping

I have prayed for you

Before I knew of your existence

Hear me, new soul

And don’t let my words fall

Hear me, new soul

And don’t let your soul be lost

Don’t leave now

Because these cells could not hold you

Wait for me

Wait for something better

I love you with an intensity

No one will ever describe

And I will mourn for you forever

If you never walk by my side

To the place of new souls

I will direct my prayers

My Lord said that he has you

And so I will not despair

Last Saturday night I had the great pleasure of performing one of my spoken word pieces for Minnesota Without Poverty”s (www.mnwithoutpovery.org) statewide gathering.  There were two musicians and two other poets who performed, and it was an honor to be in such a talented group of people.  Much love to Julia Dinsmore for all her encouragement and for contending to get me on the program for this event.  It was a great night, and there were many requests for a copies of the poem and possibly other opportunities to perform.

I am delighted to report that I sent copies of the poem out to The Saint Paul Area Council of Churches (www.spacc.org), The Minnesota Coalition for the Homeless (www.mnhomelesscoalition.org), Jobs Now Coalition (www.jobsnowcoalition.org), and Senator John Marty.  So I thought I’d post the text of the poem for my internet friends too.  You’re welcome to use it too if you like, just please credit me and let me know where it’s being used.  Here it is!

The math works

$6.15 an hour for eight hours a day

$49.20 a day for five days a week

Since I can’t get overtime

$246 a week

Before taxes

Which shakes out to $870 a month

$600 for my apartment

$80 a month for bus fare

Which leaves about $50 a week for groceries

For me and my kid.

The math works.

Except my kid goes to school

$4.25 for pencils

$5.60 for a notebook

$10.75 for a calculator

$29.83 for new used clothes

$23.65 for a backpack

And it’s $75 before we’re done

But I can do this

So I walk to work in the month of September

It’s four miles, it takes over an hour

But it’s okay, because the math works.

Except that my kid gets the flu

I should have gotten her that shot

But I didn’t get home from work until late

And I was so tired

$95 for the doctor visit

So they could tell me it’s a virus

And there’s nothing they can do

I can’t miss work

So I pay my neighbor $10 a day

To check in on my kid once or twice

That’s our whole grocery budget

So I buy ten cans of chicken noodle soup

On sale for a dollar a piece

To last a week

Chicken soup is good for a sick girl anyway, right?

And that’s good, because I need the math to work.

Except that they cut my hours

Down to 35 hours a week

That’s $30 a week off my check

I swallow my panic

If I’m very careful

I cut the grocery budget by $20

And only take the bus home from work

But it’s getting colder

My coat is torn

My shoes are wearing out

There’s no way to replace them

But the math doesn’t care about that

It just works.

In December there’s Christmas

I walk the aisles of shiny toys my kid would love

I check one price tag

$34.95 for a toy?

An employee sees me touching it

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Just looking, I say, just looking

I can’t buy anything

Because I can only work the math so hard.

In January they raise my rent

$650 a month now

I carry the notice to the office

It rattles in my shaking hand

Because I haven’t eaten enough

Because I’m exhausted

I’ve worked seven hours

And walked eight miles

And it’s 10 degrees outside

And I’m chilled down to my marrow

I try to be polite

I tell that lady with the nice hairdo and the brand new clothes

That I can’t pay an extra $50 a month

I can’t pay any extra a month

She gives me look

A look that sees my torn coat, my worn-out shoes

My shaking hands

She shrugs

there’s nothing she can do

Everything’s expensive these days.

Now I am not a crazy person

And I’m not taking any drugs

But I scream and yell at that woman

I know, I know things are expensive

But I don’t get paid any more because things are expensive

And do you understand that I can’t live if the math doesn’t work?

Math is cruel

It comes up short without any apology

I will spend my life working it

But I want better for my kid

For her, I need people to work

People to push my employer to pay me a fair wage

A living wage

People to pitch in for school supplies

People to lobby for cheaper doctor visits

People to invest in my kid, while I’m at work

So she can spend her life making the world work

Instead of just the math.

This life is a storm
with it’s huge crashes of light
It’s nourishing rain
it’s pressing winds
the scurrying leaves
the utter, consuming blackness

And the moment I say, “It’s dark!”
the lightning brings to stark reality
the unmistakable outline of the world
And surely with a light as powerful
as profound and moving as that
It could never be dark again
Yet this thought is not yet complete
when obscurity falls like a thick blanket
and muffles the very fiber of light

The rain that feeds the world
pelts my face without mercy
the winds that press and worry
sweep the landscape clean
like a mother with her trusted broom

And in the face of black and white
the how are you doing’s
it’s impossible to express
the everything of nothingness
the sheer joy and crushing despair
that I eat together, day after day
so to the questions I will reply
This life is a storm
How can I say more?