#NaPoWriMo - day thirteen

I chose for myself
this course of action.
I have no other
to blame.
 
All this time I have
remained hidden.
I feel no need
to prove my existence.
 
Do you remember my face?
Do you remember my name?
 
You will not find me
in the public square.
You won’t notice me
at the corner table.
 
Who will tell the stories?
Who will sing the songs?
 
I have written everything down
and hidden the letter.
It will be my only confession.
You may never read it.
 
Someone is always watching.
Don’t tell me what you’ve seen.
Don’t tell me what you’ve heard.
Just tell me my name.

#NaPoWriMo - day twelve

We moved from home to home.
We met in living rooms and kitchens
and bedrooms. We shared
meals and drinks and spoke
of life to each other.
We celebrated and danced.
We gathered around the words
and parsed out the meaning.
We asked the difficult questions
and left room for difficult answers.
We did that for years.

But we moved to new cities, new jobs.
Made new friends. Stopped writing
perhaps, beds shared with new bodies,
tables covered with new dishes,
new promises made. I hope
each of you still finds reasons
to celebrate, reasons to dance.
Maybe sometimes you remember us
sitting together on the floor.
Listening to poems, songs, stories.
Quietly drinking tea, lightly
nibbling on finger food and dainties.

I still carry those moments with me.
They still feel like home.

#NaPoWriMo – day eleven

the stories were
contradictory
 
there were many
witnesses
 
rumours of war and
rumours of war
 
so many theories
to discuss
 
so many ways to frame
the days’ events
 
we were told to
write it down
 
we were told
never to tell
 
the news is
up next
 
this just in-
terruption
 
please stay
tuned

#NaPoWriMo – day ten

It was supposed to be a conversation
but all they did was talk. In the midst
of all that talking I stopped listening.
 
What happens when you stop listening?
 
What happens when you run out of patience?
 
What happens when there’s no conversation
to be had? The questions die on the page.
The air is filled with static. So we wait.
 
We wait for a moment to insert ourselves
into the story. We wait for a moment and
take time to listen and breathe and look
for answers. There are only questions,
and the questions hang in the air.
Like dust. Like fear. Like expectations.
 
What happens when you have only questions?
 
You try to make your way through the fog.
You make room at the table for conversation.
You try to find your way to the right words.

#NaPoWriMo – day nine

i brought you roses
but you did not like roses.
none. red, yellow, white…
 
i brought you lilies
but you did not like lilies.
too perfumey. like they’re hiding something.
 
i brought you orchids
but you did not like orchids.
so predatory (though beautiful).
 
i brought you tulips
but you did not like tulips.
always twisting towards the light.
 
i brought you birds of paradise
but you did not like birds of paradise.
it looks like a murder weapon.
 
i brought you chrysanthemums
but you did not like chrysanthemums.
too arty. paint one instead.
 
i brought you my hands.
you opened them like flowers
and left them. emptied.