collect your thoughts
then spit them out
on a laptop
look at the dregs and see what it says
about you
about your past/present/future
read the spittle like tea leaves
and leave it alone for another day or two
to read them again
with a new eye
a new vibe
a new perception that perspective gives us
[i just want to know what my own brain
is thinking]
something
shifted
in the pain in my shoulder
instead of feeling
impossibly impinged
it just feels sore
tight
like a normal shoulder might
and though i still stand slightly lopsided
and i still feel everything ~off~ inside my shoulder joint
i’m hopeful this means
*something*
in this journey
the problem with writing
in a different format
[essay and story
i.e. two different prose types]
for so many days
is
it makes
my poetry feel
somehow
Wrong —
maybe less than
maybe too much
maybe just off
from what i’m now used to
but it all just feels so
Wrong
now
finally
finally
we have snow!
the ominous winds
have slowed
to a gentle breeze/
a softer blow/
carrying upon it
flecks of white and
cold as ice, but
piling up like pillows.
the puppy, she leaps and bites
at each shovel-full/
each chunk of salt
scattered for safety
scattered for prosperity
scattered for the memory
of living in wisconsin
and doing this daily.
though it hasn’t felt like winter
until this very snowfall,
i immediately regretted
wanting
and taunting
the skies with my lines
after each prediction of precipitation
“i’ll believe it when i see it.”
now that i’m dealing with it,
i believe it
i believe it
now can it
be over with?
vertigo
springs out of nowhere —
nausea
then dizziness
[then both]
[don’t underestimate them
together]
we feel for past kip,
we feel for louka,
we feel for current kip
as they navigate these rough seas,
this daily drammamine
this unknowledge of what will make things
a little better/
a lot worse
[cold packs/movement of any kind/egg drop soup/screens/ginger tea/overheating]
contemplating
how to work in a world
this way
waiting
for a day
when the vertigo might
go away
[go away!]
the soundtrack of our morning
includes:
skipped songs on a playlist
whenever they have words to them,
the soft stomps of a puppy
forcing me to play with her
and whatever toy she brings me,
the tippity taps of fingers on keys
from my poetry
and kip’s programming,
and the cat
somewhere
somewhere
in this building.
i’m skipped by a day
i’m hoping to play/stay/praying for a time when
i won’t feel pushed
pulled
drawn
torn
sketched
sketchy
wretched
when i don’t do exactly as i’m told
as i told myself
i would
[n’t]
what a stressful last couple of days
what a travel/missed communication/vertigo/sleepy sleepy exhaustion couple of days
what a worry worry worry couple of days
i’m glad we’re back and together and okay.
letting a poem end
where it wants to end,
though you have so many postscripts and parentheticals to add/
explanation and context a reader may need/
something a little extra so you’re not misunderstood/
but letting a poem end
and stand
where it wants to let be
and let free
is a thing of bravery —
i’m learning
i’m learning
the wind howling all night
rain smack splat thwacking the windows —
the puppy and i, unable to rest our eyes,
for hoping the terror in the night
is just nature knocking a little too forcefully
on our door
[but fear it is something more];
staring into the darkness
hoping to see a clue being borne,
hoping to see the end of the storm —
unable, we slink to a different bedroom
a smaller, cozier, stiffer bedroom
thank goodness for a guest bed, one where i can
fall asleep
but i wish wish wish
it could be a bed
where i stay
a
sleep
all night
all night
alas, alack,
’tis not to be
[but at least sleep caught up with the puppy]
kipventures 