i hate
hate
hate
being sick
time stops making sense
daytime naps and nighttime coughing fits
food tastes awful
but my stomach starves for it
the days take so long
but nothing gets done
and liquids
fluids
anything wet
imbibed continually
till my system’s flushed out
and i know
it won’t be over
tomorrow
ugh
write
a little bit more
and you’ll feel
a little bit
better
A Sad Halloween
a wide lime green bowl
atop a crimson stool
laying in fun-sized-candy wait
at the end of an un-swept driveway
no human to greet
no calm dog to meet
no new-to-the-neighborhood welcome
because we are inside
up two flights
hoping to not spread our illness
with this holiday cheer we love
it’s the most wonderful time of year
but not for us
this year
not
for
us
(but hey, at least we can get
some joy out of this
silly-goofy
hyperactive
puppy-dog)
(and our lack of brain-fog)
split attention
books on audio
poetry on iPad
fevers and coughs and naps and care/on beds and floors and couches…
COVID finally this this house
(but only one human shows it)
the puppy
has lost
her ball
probably
under
the coffee
table
perhaps whining at us
and barking at it
will make its
return
hasten
(it worked
because
i’m
a pushover)
a break
a gap
for multiple days
but
i’m not worried
in the way
i have been
because i know
i’m here
and i have things to say
no matter
what
~~~
re-writing history
is the way i deal with
days i couldn’t deal with
the morning pages
or mid-afternoon meditation
or evening ponderings…
simply take the time machine
of your blogging schedule
and post
in the past
(it’s surprisingly
easy)
~~~
(any more to say?)
[anything else to think?]
{or is writing
still coming back
into focus
after a few
days?}
i secretly love
going back
and reading old poems
(even old poem-to-do-lists)
and seeing
who
and how
i was
back[not really that far]then
what good
comes from
writing
about writing?
writing
about poetry?
writing
about waiting
and wanting
to write
so well?
ok
let’s see
if i like this new compy
if this keyboard won’t be as hassle-y
if i can get on board creativity
and be
the person
i’ve always wanted to be
~~~
yes
you guessed it
new computer
new keyboard
less doubling of letters
less loss of vowels
less struggle to write
in a way
that others would be able
to see
and figure out
and comprehend
and all that jazz
(oh no
have i relied on that
hassle
to not feel
personally
imperfect???)
~~~
but with a new piece
of technology
comes the premise
of a promise
to keep it up to date
and cleaner
and less crumb-y
and less angry
and i (hopefully)
will fulfill this
better
than in the
(very recent)
past
we’ll see
we’ll see
i wonder
if my mother
would have been great
at getting my pronouns
right
would she have stood up for me
at family gatherings
corrected people
when i wasn’t near
would she have been
the ally
i needed
to come out
with a bang
instead of this subtle
exhausting
whispered
coming out
over
and over
and over
again
every time
a ‘she’ is uttered
or a ‘ladies’ is announced
or any of those microaggressions
my gender dysphoria
insists
are actual aggression
i don’t know
i wish i knew
but i really don’t
she was an ally of all queer folks she knew
(I know 100% she’d have been to my wedding
would have celebrated like the world was ending
when she knew mine was just beginning
because that’s just the way she was)
but gender is somehow harder
and the in-between confuses even the best
of allies
and i don’t want to put her up on a pedestal
nor do i want to underestimate her devotion
to a me she never got to see
i only knew her for eleven and three quarters years
and i have memories of less
she is both the person i was closest to
and the biggest mystery of my life
and i just wish
i could guess
what it would be like
to have her
stand up
for me
kipventures 