Hope

I hope the way I love.
There is nothing passive or bloodless
in how I express both.

Maybe it comes
from living too deeply, too long,
in stories where someone said,

“This could— 

  should— 

  be better.”

When my throat is choked,
from sobbing or screaming,
hope is the thing
that makes me gulp

just one more clean breath
and gives me strength to crawl
towards better
“what if’s”.

Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash

Song Choice: Dare You to Move by Switchfoot

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings.

I Suck at Titles (An Apology)

Have you ever gone on vacation and relaxed so much that your brain disavows any responsibility for anything more complex than deciding on the best spot to curl up with a good book? I spent the last couple of weeks chilling first in Maine, then in New Hampshire.

View from the cabin overlooking the bay in Maine.

The view when you walk down the path from the bluff to the shore.

The porch swing at the B&B in New Hampshire.

So, I'm not great at coming up with titles most times. And you can see how it's easy to be distracted in such idyllic environments. When I hit publish for my last blog post, I saw that I hadn't been as clear as I would have liked to, The title especially added nothing to the piece. When I got back, I changed the title so my meaning would be evident. Just in case there's still a question, let me be perfectly clear.

I am pro-choice. The decision to overturn Roe v Wade has me gravely concerned. A friend of mine is already suffering. Even though they are not seeking an abortion, they are being denied medicine they need for their well-being (they suffer from rheumatoid arthritis) on the off-chance they might be pregnant at some point. Clarence Thomas has indicated this won't stop at Roe. The right to marriage, hell the right to privacy for my Darling Youngest, who fits several letters under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, is at risk. 

I presume Justice Thomas might leave interracial marriage intact, since that would affect him. But just because my straight passing marriage to my white husband is safe (I am a bisexual woman), and my 50 year old womb seems to be permanently retired from the business of baby making, that doesn't mean I will keep silent on this. I am disgusted by the continued machinations of the right wing in the US. It loves to brag how it embraces freedom and small government, even while its members cynically do everything they can to dig its tentacles deeper into people's lives. 

I am extremely embarrassed that my writing was not up to the task of expressing how I truly felt (that'll teach me to double-check things, even on vacation). So I'm sorry, dear Groovers, and will try to do better next time.    

Song Choice: You Don't Own Me covered by SayGrace featuring G-Eazy

Dear Brett, Neil, Amy, Clarence, Samuel, and Mitch Too

I’m not interested in your brand
of freedom. A sick joke
you shove at others
that looks nothing like
true choice.

Even your so-called beliefs
are just spray paint and spangles
over elephant excrement 

cosplaying as patriotism. 

You don’t even bother

to pretend familiarity to those ideals
when they become an inconvenience.

But I will give you this much—
your repeated hypocrisies
are the best advertising
for the virtues of the other side.

You think being awake is an insult.
I call it the first step to breaking free.

Photo by Gayatri Malhotra on Unsplash

 

Song Choice: Vengo by Ana Tijoux

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings Post.

EDITED TO ADD: Forgive me dear Groovers, but I was distracted this week. It was only when I got back home that I realized I had rushed things and didn't give the title as much thought as I ought to have. 😰 I have changed it on 7/13/22 and will have more to say in the next post. Mea culpa. 

Mid-Life (It's About Damn Time)

My crisis began
years ago, when I was made
into a topiary girl

with well concealed roots
false flowers in place
of where real ones used to grow.

There is no crisis
in finally showing
all my gnarls and bumps
and in owning the colors
that were always mine.

This is healing.

Song Choice: It's About Damn Time by Lizzo

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem is linked to the Friday Writings post at Poets and Storytellers United.