Of Sound Minds and Bodies

When asked what I was like as a child, my go-to answer is “pretty much your average paperweight.” Leave me in a spot with a book and there I’d stay until someone came to pull me out of my mental Narnia. As you might imagine, I wasn’t all that physical of a child (unless music was involved—I did and still do love to dance).

I first started working out as a teen because of vanity, then kept it up because of the mood boost I get. As I’ve mentioned other times on the blog, I even learned to appreciate playing sports as an adult. Fitness is a regular part of my routine.

I was proud of myself for keeping up with working out through the pandemic, because even when I was tired, I still wanted that endorphin bump and feeling of accomplishment. Then a few days after I came back from vacation, I rolled my ankle and managed to tweak a ligament on the top of my foot.

I won’t lie. I had lots of ‘poor me’ thoughts for the first few days (especially when I was told I might have broken something). And it didn’t help that I relied on that mood booster in the months that followed a very dear friend’s death (to be honest, I still have horrible days where grief swallows me whole). But I remembered the example of another dear friend, who keeps getting some wicked curveballs thrown at her fitness routine. If one way is closed, try another, and another, until something works.

Turns out YouTube is quite helpful for finding routines you can do without putting weight on your foot. I don’t get the same rush, but it was mentally soothing to me to be able to do them, and then graduate to walking around the block later. Last week I got cleared to go back to my usual routine. I’m glad I took it slow and didn’t reinjure myself. 

My long-term fitness goal is to be the abuelita chasing her grandkids on the playground. But I have a new appreciation for the short-term mood boost benefits too. My body and brain are finally on the same page.

Me in my favorite work-out clothes. Shown here are my 4 main moods:

earnest nerdiness, stoically processing trauma,

cheerleader for family and friends, and MURDER EXPLOSION QUEEN.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Dance Again by Selena Gomez

Liner Notes for this Groove: This was written in response to the Weekly Scribblings prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Take Care of Your Body.

King Koi (Obon)

The koi rises
like a splash of sunshine
from behind clouds of murky water.

The golden-orange flash
dances though the pond

in and out of branches
trailing at the pond’s edge
playing in the reflection of the moon.

Until, conceding defeat,

he sinks back,
all the brightness swallowed
again in the gloom of the water.

No treats have been set out for him
tonight. There is only the flicker
of floating candles lighting the way back

for those who swim
in far darker places
than the gilded king of the pond.

Photo I took of an obon observance I went to

at Shofuso (The Japanese house and garden in Philadelphia) over the weekend.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Recuérdame from Coco

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Pay Attention

Cease-Fire

I’d like to declare a cease-fire
against myself. I am done
being tired all the time
from fighting a war
I don’t remember starting.

I’d like to recall
all the spies that burrowed
into my darkest recesses
to use everything they found
against me.

Is any armistice enough
to let the imprisoned parts
dare the sunlight

or

will they stay in their cells
even while knowing
that no doors could never exist

that they didn't have the key to?

Photo by Candice Seplow on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Don't Let Me Get Me by P!nk

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, War is Over, If You Want It.

Saltwater Display (What Has Changed)

Everything the same, just as I left it,
mostly.
I didn’t plan on the saltwater
puddle sitting on the desktop.

My collection of figurines
still stood, surprisingly dust free.

I didn’t have the time or energy
to deal with the ones
that are more disappointing than charming now.

I had to pull myself together
and clean up that puddle,

likely originating from a well-meaning attempt
to keep order in an office equivalent of a ghost town.

As much as I’d like to ignore
the puddle of saltwater
eroding the foundation

of the salt tea light holder
that someone was kind enough to gift me
as a token of protection,

it invaded the space
where my laptop plugs into.
I have no time

for saltwater displays
in an office, trying to go on
as if nothing has changed

and pretend that ghosts aren’t here too.

An old picture of my office cubical. A co-worker said he easily figured out

who it belonged to without looking for the name tag.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Back In Black

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt, Change and Renewal, at Poets and Storytellers United. 

Two Unexpected

Two unexpected
seeds dropped.

One on a winter evening
when it had the indecency
to rain instead of snow.

One on a summer afternoon
when sunshine pulled out
everyone from inside the house.

Why go out
and expose flesh
to numbing rain

for just dinner and a movie
when there’s a perfectly good bed?

Why stay inside
a stifling room
when a breeze from the bay
feels so good on skin 

on skin in the shade?

One winter day. One summer day.
The company was more than fine.

Perhaps we should have been a little less surprised
at how life (and love) grows in welcoming spaces
despite the whims of the weather.

Photo by Bastien Jaillot on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Closing Time covered by Wendy Child

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets United, Sudden Moments.

Embrace

I embrace decay,

trusting it to feed the seeds

too small for me to see now.

Photo by JXST PIX on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Ordinary World by Duran Duran

Liner Notes for This Groove: This senryu was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Micro-writings.

Never Was

I will not allow
my heart to become
your blank slate

upon which to carve
soothing stories for yourself
of a time and place

that never was.

No matter how

you reject or dismiss

its audacious beat,

the truth roars

in my heart’s blood -

loud, primal -

and drowning out the lies.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Just Like Fire by Pink

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Writing a Blank. 

The Temptation of Easy

The temptation
of easy is always there,
curling into curves
needing to be filled.

It drops breathy promises
into ears already scarlet
at the thought of the thrill

of how much more smoothly
I can glide over the roughness

if I just ignore a few things.

But it would take a better liar
than I to convince myself
to lay back and close my eyes

when I know action,

my actions,
could make a difference.

Photo by Oliver Roos on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Follow My Feet by The Unlikely Candidates

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Between What is Right and What Seems Easy.

Moth and Firefly

Shayla had noticed Lisbet before the woman who ran the dairy farm told her to go mentor the new girl so she could learn how things were done. Shayla had apologized profusely when she realized Madame had only done it so that Shayla could provide distraction while Madame tried to seduce Lisbet’s beau.

“Don’t worry,” Lisbet said. “I was about done with him anyway. She’s welcome to him and his diseases.”

It wasn’t long after that they found they had a shared interest – magic.

“What can you do?” Lisbet asked.

“This.” And in a blink Shayla cast an illusion that blurred her edges so that unless you knew where to look, your eyes would slide over her. “And you?”

“This.” Lisbet said, casting a small orb of glowing light.

The witch trials were coming up. They had both secretly wanted to go for several years now, but it was only upon meeting each other that they decided to do it.

“Nothing stopping us from going as a team,” Lisbet said. Shayla agreed.

They whispered back and forth during the orientation session about what they thought the trials might be. Shayla was sure the witches were dropping hints in their words. A serious faced witch interrupted them to ask for their names.

“I’m Moth. She’s Firefly,” Shayla said.

The witch went away muttering something that sounded like “not likely to hug bears but still silly.”

“It was a little silly,” Shayla agreed later that night in the woods. “But names have power, and I didn’t want to share mine right away. Not until I was sure we’d pass.”

“We will. We’ve got 6 out of the 7 things we need to find with plenty of time left. Why those names?”

“Based on our powers,” Shayla answered. “And one time Madame compared me to a moth because I was a pest.”

“Shows what she knows,” Lisbet said. “We need your magic now.”

Shayla’s magic covered them both as a bear wandered through the clearing, ignoring them.

“My turn,” Lisbet said. Her orb illuminated a mushroom, the last item on the list. “We make a great team.”

“That we do,” said Shayla, following Lisbet back to the cottage and their future.

Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: We Are Going to Be Friends by the White Stripes

Liner Notes for This Groove: This piece of flash fiction was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Butterflies and Moths. It was also inspired by the short story I wrote a couple of weeks ago, Witch Trials, just to see if I could find more to say.

Bloody Unusual

My
uncanny heart
is a lair
for numerous bloody unusual
tales.

Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United - Unusual, Uncommon, Uncanny.

Also, on the advice of cleverer poets, a last minute word swap was made which makes it much better IMHO... "several" for "numerous".

Witch Trials

The moon had moved as far as the second highest branch of the oak tree. Melli sighed as she ruffled Gorgon’s fur.

“Soon, baby,” she cooed at the beast.

“Not soon enough,” fretted Gladys as she stirred the cauldron. “I want to know now if any make it through. Last year we didn’t have any.”

Cara set several bundles of herbs on the table. “None’s fine by me. I’d rather be sure they’re suitable than let just anyone in.” Several of the other women in the room nodded.

Melli laughed. “I can’t decide which ones are worse, those who faint at the first twig they step on or the ones who try to snuggle a bear?”

“That only happened once,” said Gladys. “Gorgon and I were able to whisk her off before anything bad happened.  It didn’t take much effort working the charm of forgetting on her.”

“It’s always easy on the daft ones,” Cara said. The room exploded in cackles.

Melli agreed with both Cara and Gladys. It was always a happy day when they welcomed a new witch to their ranks, but she didn’t know what was in the minds of some of the applicants. The forgetfulness charm meant some had tried more than once, but if they weren’t just the right sort of bold mixed with a generous dollop of sense, they would never be happy living this life.

“Still, I think we’ll have at least two new ones to welcome,” Gladys said.

This time Cara smiled. “The two chatterboxes? Yes. I heard them discussing how they might deal with some of the things they might encounter. They sounded sensible at least. I’ve never seen two that decided to team up before.”

The moon was just touching that top branch now. “It’s time to check on them,” Melli said.

The ladies grabbed their brooms or shapeshifted depending on their preference. The local dryads hadn’t raised an alarm, so no candidate was in danger of anything greater than embarrassment. Melli did hope those two girls did make it through. They were spirited enough not to shiver in the dark and sharp enough to know it’d be helpful to go together. Those seemed like promising signs to her.

Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Which Witch by Florence and the Machine

This flash fiction was inspired by the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Waiting. 

Why is That Crazy Woman Out Walking in the Rain?

1. Because though her boots and umbrella don’t match, they’re both cute in their own way and should be seen and used for splashing.
2. Because even though yesterday was a wash day, she’s got an interesting hat (that also doesn’t match) to protect her hair.
3. Because spreadsheets will still be there when she gets back, but rainstorms are now.
4. Because there’s nothing like a good shower to get over a block. It works for writing, why not this? 
5. Because she can imagine she’s attending a cherry blossom funeral, watching yesterday’s petals get swept along the roadways, and out to the drains that lead to something bigger somewhere else.
6. Because no one stops to make small talk in the rain.
7. Because the rain doesn’t care if you leak water too.
8. Because there has to be a rainbow at the end of all this, dammit. I haven’t been out here all this time just to go inside without seeing a rainbow.
9. Because angry-splashing so hard that rainwater makes it up and inside my boot makes me laugh.
10. Because I feel there’s something mad and lovely about laughing in the rain too.
11. Because I see a neighbor giving me an odd look out the window, and that makes me laugh harder until the rain slows down.
12. Because petrichor.
13. Because it might be little, but, finally, there’s that rainbow I needed.

Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: I Like to Walk in the Rain by Shirley Temple

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for Poets and Storyteller United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Listmania.

The Usual Place

The creek at Peace Valley Park

Meet me at our usual place.

You know, 

the one we found together.

The sun is bright enough

today to paint glitter on the creek.

Let’s both bring our lunch.

We can eat it after we go wading.

If the creek isn’t too high,

I might cross to the other side

just to see what the view is like from there.

We’ll walk as we go talking, taking in all the scents of the woods,

from honeysuckle to loamy earth. You always did like

the way it smelled like the sea where the streams met.

I’ll bring an Inca Cola. You bring a Jarrito.

We’ll crack them open by the shade of the hollow tree.

You can point out all the plants you know by name.

Me, I am still learning where to find mugwort.

Maybe I’ll be successful growing my own this year.

We’ll talk about all the boys

who did us wrong.

We’ll talk about the ones who did us

right and the creek will laugh

as it flows right over the rocky parts.

We’ll talk about places away

from this creek, the honeysuckle and the woods.

You'll talk about England. I'll talk about Japan.

And we really will mean it

when we say we wanted to see them together.

Meet me at our favorite spot.

I’ll be there even when the sun has set,

when the water’s laughter is whisper above a hush,

when the honeysuckle's scent is spent,

and the moon paints mourning silver on the creek.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: The Space Between from Disney's Descendants

The Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Where Are You Placed?

 

Sakura

What magic to be
included in the dancing
of a sakura,
from when it spun from its tree
to the moment it lay still.

Photo by Anders Jildén on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Mother Earth and Father Time from Charlotte's Web

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Liminal Space.

April Can (2021)

April can be kind.
April can be cruel.
April is
April after all.

April must be
at home in Alice’s Wonderland—
October’s petal frocked twin,
hiding her teeth behind a teacup.

April leaps
up in yellows, pinks, and greens,
determined to grow out of spite

of the winter before she arrived.

April is especially hard
this year, demanding a new start
from an earth whipped sore

while trying its best to live

after the dying winter. 

But April can cry
right alongside you,

keeping company in quiet mists

or keening with you

in inconsolable storms.

bantersnaps on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: You Know Where to Find Me by Imogen Heap

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, April.

I Pity the Poor Old Bird

I pity the poor old bird
who didn’t value the strength of the tree
that sheltered her from the storms,

and instead spent her nights
lamenting over another
tree that would not bend
to cherish her near so well.

I pity the poor old bird
who knows nothing
other than playing
at being a harpy,

befouling every space
unlucky enough to know her presence.

It is clear she envies
the kestrel and her mate,
lovingly paired and partnered,

with no wingbeat taken for granted—

the kestrel who knows the joy
of the welcoming blue sky,
the stars, and rising sun,

who has flown with true companions
that were only taken from her by death,
and not driven away by spite.

I pity the poor old bird,
who when she finally falls
stiff and cold from her perch,

will fall
unmissed,
unloved,
and unremembered,

save for the worms
that will find plenty of room to burrow
in the cavity of her empty chest.

Tasos Mansour on Unsplash

I hope those who hold you fondly in their mind have a true and clear image of you. 

I hope you are seen clearly for who you are.

May you never look into a mirror without seeing your true face.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Mean by Taylor Swift and  I've No More F*cks To Give by Thomas Benjamin Esq. 

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Bird is the Word.

Once A King

My dog was once king
of the elementary school bus stop
every morning.

He was a fair monarch,
granting belly rub privileges to all
the children before they started their school day.

But the corner has been empty
of adoring subjects. If they see him,
they wave from behind windows now.

And the once king of the bus stop
makes his rounds near an empty playground,
howling at the other exiled kings and queens
who also miss the noisy old days.

Kit, in his pre-pandemic stance.

 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks
 

Song Choice: Heroes by David Bowie

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Beloved Companions.

Punk Rock Angel

She was no one’s angel
but her own. In love
with loving and exploring
underappreciated beauty
with every one
of her senses.

She was a punk rock angel
too in love with this world
to be interested in (or wait for)
a monotone heaven.

So she made her own,
stuffed with all the delights
she loved best.

Her heaven had room
for both adventures and lipstick,
dark truths and real smiles,
fine china in a blanket fort,
Shakespeare and Bubblegum,

witchcraft and shenanigans.

Her heaven had room
for every last lover,
anyone who identified as a dreamer,

and me.

She danced every day of her life
in her homemade heaven.
Until she couldn’t.

I’d call her a liar
for promising me an after
(this time with English wells,

and tucked away tea houses),

but there was no sin in her heaven,
save being untrue to yourself.

So I forgive her last lie,
and hold on to the truth

of best friends forever
in a summer star land,
where punk rock angels play 

the most raucous of concerts.

And the cheese,

and the bread, 

and the dancing, 

and the sex
is so much better there
than the bland heaven
the world tried to threaten us with.

I always get misty watching this anime, but now the part where she makes her wish

to get her best friend back will make me weep too. Cat understood how much I loved it

and probably expected it would be the first thing I binged after she died.

Song Choices:  I Do What The Good Girls Don't by Elle King, and I Lived by One Republic

Liner Notes for This Groove: I lost one of my dearest friends in the world on Monday morning. She fought chronic illness for so long, but never let it dim her love of life. I'll miss you, Neko-chan. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Everyday

Everyday 

there’s a new blue sky
waiting for me
to disturb all the earth
thrown upon me
the day before,
and see if I’ll come dancing.

Everyday 

there's a new spark,

either hiding in the curl of a leaf

or out in plain sight

in the curve of my love's smile

strong enough 

to remind my heart what it's there for.

And all is made new again.

Taylor Van Riper on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Brand New Day by Sting

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Starting A New Relationship. You can start a new relationship with a day, right?

Hard Reset

I’m looking for a hard reset.
Silence. Enough
to allow my gunpowder emotions
time to settle down from their fine mist
and lay quietly
away from incendiary sparks.

I’m looking for space
where I don’t have to
MacGyver my emotional state
and self-suture the same old wounds.
One where I can really rest
and learn what healed skin looks like.

I want to find
what it feels like to know
an extended peace
in my battlefield brain,
so I can reclaim the salted earth
and put it to work
growing only the things I chose to plant.

Photo by Jaime Spaniol on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: 24/7 by Kehlani

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United: Wait for It. I may have twisted the line I chose to work with "I'm looking for a mind at work" as far as its limits could go.