July 25, 2021

for so long
i was the kind of person
who woke up every morning
and stretched for fifteen minutes.

i think i needed it, at that time,
so much loss and change and variability,
and i had a goal and i achieved it;
within the year (maybe within six months)
i could:
touch my toes,
drop into full splits,
left, right, and center,
and i could arch my back
backwards
and touch the floor on the other side.

and yes, i was younger
and limberer
(though i certainly didn’t feel that way
when i started)

but after high school,
i entered college
with roommates
and depression
and a year away
and figuring out my life
and another college
and too many classes/assignments/rehearsals
to fit in 24 hours,
and the diligence
of stretching every morning
slipped away…

and then meeting my to-be spouse
and graduation
living/moving around the midwest
Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Madison,
eventually ending up in our own home
and still i didn’t have a morning routine
akin to that which helped me through high school
nothing for my body
nothing for my mind
nothing for my soul
(but i was fulfilled, body, mind, and soul, in other ways;
discovering circus,
meeting my people,
having my kip with me through it all).

and when we moved to New York,
the spouse and i created a new tradition,
a new morning routine,
to make our lives a little more centered
as we entered our busy days.

and that habit ebbed and flowed,
adjusting for our own needs,
adjusting for the start of a global pandemic,
adjusting for the stressors and fears that accompany
life
in a ‘new normal’
kind of situation,
and we’ve been at this
morning pages
for a year and a half now,
and the poetry version
i’ve kept going
for a little over
one hundred days

and this has been paramount
to my emotional, intellectual, and spiritual health,
i’ve felt more connected to my own thoughts
(or awareness that i’m not)
for the first time since i was a small child

but my body still begs for consistency
and my muscle flexibility
hasn’t been touched in weeks
and there’s no habit i have that helps…

but that’s how i started
a decade and a half ago,
a feeling of need,
of desire,
of a goal i wanted to accomplish,
and i set my mind to do it
so i did.

and i know it won’t be as quick
(and i have more knowledge now
of all bodies and their different needs)
so maybe
now
i can find a time
an activity
a physically centering habit
to help me as we adjust
for new changes,
healthier spaces,
and connect body/mind/spirit
in one.

July 24, 2021

fuck dead names
give me the story of your living name;
the reason you chose it
(or it chose you),
tell me the person you knew with that name
who you always looked up to,
tell me the tv show you stole your new name from.
i don’t care what your parents gave you at birth,
it was a gift/a label/a force that didn’t stick,
(just like gender)
that doesn’t tell me about you,
your choices,
your wants and desires,
what draws you to certain characters/names/stories.
tell me your story,
i don’t care how long and convoluted it is,
i don’t care if you can only tell me half the story
because the other half is too personal,
give me the half you can give;
did someone give you a nickname that stuck?
did you wholly make up your name,
and that felt much more apt than anything pre-prescribed from society?
tell me about your living name,
because i want to know about
the living you.

July 23, 2021

i can’t seem to make my fingers type,
my brain to process,
my mind to wake up,
my body to…do anything but crave coffee.

i passed the 100th day of writing daily poetry
and of course i forgot all about it
in favor of writing a poem that was relatively mundane,
but also full of hope and potential and change
and, ultimately, relatability.

i assumed i’d write about the 100 days
(and subsequent forgotten anniversary)
the following day,
the one hundred and first day,
look back on the full hundred days,
look forward towards two hundred and sixty four more
but Louka needed us
badly
yesterday
so we were with her,
and my only poem was an invocation
a hope
that everything would be okay.

while it’s not perfectly okay now,
it’s not terrible.
still scary
for all of us,
but it’s not a stroke,
it doesn’t seem neurological,
and we’ll continue sleeping on the couch next to her
and carrying her up and down our fourth floor Brooklyn walk-up
for as long as we all need.

because
our dog
is the goodest dog,
she is,
and we would do anything and everything for her,
including buying a house.

July 22, 2021

i wish
i could say
to my dog
‘it’s okay,
i’m here to help you,
i won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again’

i wish
i could say
to my dog
‘it’s okay,
the loud noises on the street
that you can’t see with your cataract eyes
aren’t here to hurt you at all.’

i wish
i could say
to my dog
‘it’s okay,
your legs are just asleep,
if you let me hold you and massage your hips
and give it time
you’ll be back up to acting like a puppy in no time’

but she doesn’t understand
foolish english
so, instead, i use calming tones
(and dog-calming music)
and gently smooth her fur
while murmuring
‘it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…’
and hope that gets the idea across.

July 21, 2021

decisions
preparing
discussions
excitement?
maybe?

~~~

all these silly
vague
hints
peek into my world
but don’t see
fully

~~~

do i write today?
do i post today?
do i wait today?
who knows?
(certainly not i)

July 20, 2021

am i so tired now
because my teen days
were 21 hours of manic waking
followed by three night-hours of insomnia?

[or is this still the insomnia,
just a whole new flavor?]

July 19, 2021

the morning
early morning
just woken up morning
was spent crafting
a thought
a poem
a contemplation
about acting
about anxiety
about newfound epiphanies in my head

but the regular
morning pages
morning poems
morning contemplation
meditation
time
was spent arranging
and planning
and father-talking

which is all okay
but suffice it to say
i’m a little off my poetry game
now.

July 18, 2021

let me spend my dream-days
in an old, abandoned greenhouse
let ivy cover the walls, windows, doors,
let the glass shatter, let windows stick open
so calming breezes can drift through,
and i can forget about the tick, tick, tick passage of time

let me spend my dream-days
in an old, abandoned greenhouse
let the art deco/art nouveau, detailing/glass/bars
be so extravagant
i’d feel out of place
if it wasn’t for the obvious abandonment everywhere

let me spend my dream-days
in an old, abandoned greenhouse
let it prove to me that nature doesn’t need people
to survive,
to thrive,
and maybe, someday, i can learn from it
and rise fully, independent of others’ opinions

July 16, 2021

a kip home
a home for kips
the kippiest house to ever house a kip

but where/what/how is it?

~~~

do i feel better
(je me sens plus bien)
when i write in french
(quand j’écris en français)
because i don’t have to think as deeply?
(parce que je ne dois pas penser que profondément?)

–> est-ce que je me sens mieux quand j’écris en français parce que je n’ai pas à réfléchir aussi profondément?

~~~

someday
(maybe someday soon?)
i’ll get to create
the secret garden
of my dreams