Already waiting for May

I didn't even know the Poem-a-Day topic today was "waiting," but as the rain came pouring down, this came pouring out and well, turns out it fits. So here it is. It's rough due to lack of time spent and it reveals a weakness for alliteration, and please be careful not to trip over the chunks of rust that were knocked off, but here's to waiting through one last winter alone.

rain crashes on screen windows

audibly foreshadowing the ice to come

while flashes of friction

signal summer’s last desperate gasp

wintry air seeps straight through both

rented walls and pale skin like paper

and I begin to wage war on the cold

swathed in scarf and blanket

worn slippers shuffle and

guard against glinting floor tiles

to make a microwave earn its keep

but no amount of swirling soup and cocoa

no vanilla flickers of candlelight

no artificial source of heat can warm

the space beside me as the wind howls

east down the highway corridor

which separates as easily as it connects

November 7, 2011

Country Mouse and City Mouse

The third picture could have taken me in many different directions; remembering my past as a child of the Dakotas, or speaking about being drawn back to my Kansas roots, or some combination of the two. But when I sat down to really look at this picture, I couldn't help but feel like the farmer was experiencing a moment of blissful freedom - and that was certainly something I could relate to.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, A. and I made the decision that I should keep my apartment in Lawrence for another year. Many of my friends and co-workers have stared at me, wide-eyed, insisting that this is a huge mistake, and do I really want to keep making this ridiculous drive, and I could be so much closer to work and to A. ... but sitting here in the quiet of a warm and windy spring morning with windows open wide, I know I made the right choice. Although my second home is in midtown KC, Sunday mornings there never smell this amazing or feel this peaceful. Maybe I should just show the naysayers this poem.


Metropolitan Claustrophobia

You have taught me to appreciate
being wrapped, not only in your arms,
but in the busy, noisy rhythm
of your beloved city.

I see, now, how a place so tightly packed
can also be open and loving,
and that sounds of happiness
can drown out the sirens.

But like a northern Dixie Chick,
I need my wide open spaces

where, eating breakfast,
all you can hear is the wind
and the crunch of granola.

I breathe easier
when my left elbow hangs out the window
(far more naturally than yours)
and my bass beats loudly –
not to impress, but because
I assume no one else will hear.

I am from the city, too,
but in my city, I could always see the sky,
smell the earth, and hear the changes of the weather.
Open prairie is an undeniable part of me, even now.
So though it pains me each time I leave you,
nothing beats the freedom of coming home.

April 3rd, 2011

Grab Bag

Here are a couple of poems I don't have a whole lot to say about (partly because it's too hot to think), but I like them and felt like they deserved a promotion from the hard drive. I will say that the second one is another from the series of home poems and was mostly composed there - edited this afternoon. I hope you enjoy them.


1. Miss Goody-Two Shoes

The shower’s too hot,
but you don’t reach for the cold.
Are you ignoring that tap with rebellious desire,
or as premonitory self-punishment?

Inner and outer voices clash beneath the suds -
blood pressure rises with the steam;

“Take the easy option,
look right in front of you.
It’s a sure thing -
it’s what the good girls do.”

Follow their advice, do what you’re told;

“Send this text, but not that one,
just see what might happen.
Leave that other Facebook option alone;
‘friend’ doesn’t mean what it used to.”

But that tattle-tale feeling in your gut?
Connected to that lineal story of misaligned stars
predating and predicting your very existence?
“Wait until the time is right…”

Wash confusion down the drain
with orchid extract and apricot bits,
but it clogs and swirls at your feet,
casting a scalding, dizzying spell.

Cut off the flow before heat fades,
revel in the heaviness of saturated air,
the anticipation of the moment
when crimson skin will recoil in shock and anger
from the frigid blast beyond the safety of the door.

May 20, 2010



2. Storm Chasing

564 miles doesn’t make any difference sometimes.
Tornado Katie, Tornado Jay – they’re all the same,
brandishing flashy graphics and HD radars
as weapons in the war on weather,
as if blotches of green and red
could be more highly defined than a bolt of lightning.
Dog breathes faster, trees sway amongst the flashes;
shut the windows, batten down the hatches.
One sibling flutters in panic, the other chuckles wisely until
SkyCam proves too tempting – both run outside to look.

June 17, 2010