There will be no more November in 2023

 

I have honored the spirit of the challenge if not all of its letters

What I like about the Little Women is that they take each other's feelings seriously

She thinks I am here to serve her 

This angers me

I am frequently angry 

At any given moment I am most likely brimming with rage 

Sometimes it gets the better of me 

What might my life be like if they had taught me to harness it 

Perhaps I might have felt capable instead of ashamed 

Perhaps my back wouldn't hurt so much 

Perhaps I'd never have starved 

Don't bother me with what ifs 

I am trying to engage with reality 

In reality I am both far more and far less remarkable than I'd once thought 

I take my inspiration from the people who have lost and yet still love so much 

Let me stay tender-hearted*... 

Maybe some people find it embarrassing: feeling this much 

No matter. My heart is with the poets 

*Chen Chen

I watch their pleasure for the joy of it

 

 

On my back on the gray couch 

I'm sick of this story 

You're cruel and uncaring 

 

All the kindness I had I gave to a person who could not receive it 

All the stories I shared I shared with a person who could not receive them 

So lonely for so many years 

Now I watch him worship her and it mirrors the way you worshiped her, the safest place you had 

Now you're teaching children how to ride a bike

Now you say vulnerable

Now your body wears that old cap flipped upwards  

 

All of you in one picture

 

Without knowing it, I have allowed pain and fear to corrupt me 

Fancied myself Galadriel 

The test is longer than a moment 

How are you feeling, and how will you respond?

 

 

Please excuse me

I've been so tired and so lonely

Strand by strand, my hair turning to white

I froze

I am so sad for the young woman who went through all that alone

 

I am still shadow boxing with who he used to be

Sweat blurring my eyes too much to see what's in front of me

As you revealed your tender heart I was bricking mine up and pretending to be a mason

The truth is I have no idea how to maintain a wall

You were so sick and I was so scared 

 

 

 

 

Grain free tortilla chips

 

So many epiphanies 

How to put them into practice

I keep picturing Calvin and Hobbes

under the umbrella waiting for the school bus 

I sure do invest a lot in telling myself I don't feel what I think I so often feel 

I miss my dear, emotionally brave friends 

Everything seems affected 

Truthfully the reaching out felt worse than the retreating

I have been self-pitying 

I have felt cynical and regretful; I have regressed  

My ego has swelled like a raisin floating in sink water 

I have met myself with permissiveness and understanding 

Necessary, and necessarily time limited 

isosceles

 

Lying on my stomach with my feet up

legs a triangle 

left toes propped against the top of my right foot 

Many years ago I studied geometry 

Then I devoted my life to words

The day began with coffee stirred with adaptogenic mushrooms and (who have I become) pumpkin spice almond-milk creamer

A trip to Lowe's for outdoor christmas lights

A walk in the woods with the dogs 

A short 18-mile bike ride with a big climb to finish 

Home-cooked lunch 

A couple hours of cleaning and tidying -- wash the dishes, sanitize the counters, run the towels through the washer on hot, put away the clean laundry, fold the clothes on the bedroom chair, empty the bathroom trash cans, break down the cardboard boxes, take out the recycling, sort the pile of mail on the kitchen island 

All the while managing grief, shame, overwhelm, burnout, rage -- stalwart companions 

I have reached a stage of life where I would rather clean than sit down now, even though I'm tired, because I know it will help me feel better later that day and the next one 

Thank you past June 

So much of aging has been understanding and, in many cases, embodying attitudes that previously seemed unfathomable 

I haven't been feeling beautiful of late 

Growing my hair longer helps 

Having sex helps 

Perhaps, more accurately, I haven't had energy with which to consider beauty 

That's why I was so grateful -- to see the morning fog settled into the bare-limbed forest stretched across the valley floor before me, and the sunlight in it, and to feel and say out loud to myself, without knowing I was going to speak, oh wow

Perhaps there's an element of defiance 

In the grocery store wearing a yellow beanie and an oversized green hoodie over old, loose jeans 

Looking a little worse for wear 

Looking for anyone paying attention like a person who is not feeling well 

Like two gaunt children under hunter-green robes, eyes bloodshot and bruising 

As if to say, are you capable of bearing witness to this suffering? 

I am trying to bear witness 

Even if no one else takes this as seriously as I do, I take it seriously 

When the major launched his attack, I was ready for it 

I picked up the pace and dropped him as I crested the hill 

Something in me has yet to be born 

My mother keeps telling me 

You only get more invisible

Pretty close still

 

I forgot how much I needed that 

Like existentially  

Long white robe, knee high socks 

Eating Thanksgiving leftovers 

I did the mashed potatoes my way 

Let the hackles raise and I stood my ground 

No salt though 

I found myself yesterday having actually internalized the knowledge, after three and a half decades and change, that I don't have to let them tell me how to feel about myself, my penchant for losing things, or my life's choices. I don't need to either. I don't want to. 

While she monologued, he flushed with shame, and I sat down on the folding chair across from him. We shared knowing eye contact. I reached across and held his hand. 

Dad you're so much better than you know 

I wish you would stop killing yourself. 

As of this morning the puppy weighs between 28 and 29 pounds. 

I have been going through some really heavy stuff for a prolonged time now  

My life and my body reflect that 

Aches and pains 

I'm sorry I haven't texted back 

So lonely, so lonely 

Nobody can really go through it with you, even if they wanted to 

I miss when friends had time for each other 

I love you and

you let me down 

you let me down 

you let me down 

Still I will put on my reflective vest and I will walk along the side of the road with cars blasting by and I will pick up the pieces with one of those grabby arm extender things 

The pieces are blue 

I will gather them into a bag 

I will incorporate them into a bigger puzzle, one that also has a lot of blue in it, so all the blue pieces appear simply to be part of the bigger picture 

If you see me on the side of the road I might appear to be limping 

I'm sorry okay 

I was aware it's a thing that happens to people but I wasn't aware that grief could turn me into an asshole too 

I've only just become aware of how much I'm suffering 

Also, for so long I didn't know I was a person too 

And therefore just as susceptible as everyone else 

Finally I feel a little less hungry 

What's keeping me going: 

riding my bike 

avoiding silence 

cortisol rattling my bones 

faith that deconstruction is succeeded by regrowth 

reconnecting to my self 

the possibility for meaningful shifts in my career 

an almost morbid curiosity about just how awful it's possible to feel in this context  

puppy school 

Patti Smith's Horses

He got so cold 

I wish, when they saw us sitting together on the white couches in the living room, they'd recruited someone else to help in the kitchen and left us to talk with each other 

The most well intentioned man on earth

 

To hear you tell it 

You've never intended anything unkind 

You've never intended to act like you're the only person who matters 

You've never intended to leave all the labor to her

You've never intended to be so callous, immature, juvenile, misogynistic, petty, uncaring, self-centered 

You've never intended to betray her trust over 

and over 

and yet 

When she tells you 

It's happening 

You keep doing it 

The dehumanization 

of that 

So often acting like your father and so blind to it

Too weak and fragile to see anything clearly 

Thinking yourself awake 

You've never even read bell hooks, Butler, Friedan, de Beauvoir, Wollstonecraft 

You've never had to read bell hooks, Butler, Friedan, de Beauvoir, Wollstonecraft 

Never had to search for glimmers of your own humanity 

Never lived as a second class citizen, subject to all the violence and all the clarity that entails 

Never been married to an alcoholic 

All the damage 

that entails 

They will never stop treating you poorly. 

They will never stop mattering more than everyone else on earth. 

No matter, you 

are never not the most affected  

Meanwhile the canary gasps for breath 

She told you 

Lies wrapped in lies, then deep fried 

Dried up at the center 

The heart, burnt to a crisp 

From now on I would like to feel the opposite of diminished 

Afternoon ride

 

Repair comes slowly 

Wary animals 

Craving comfort 

A felled mallard on the living room floor 

I like the globe lights

I want to paint my kitchen green 

It might not be exactly where or how I expected but I am certainly glad to experience having a home 

Every day tromping through the woods with the girls

A native wildflower meadow 

A shaded woodland stream 

The overlook above the shattered crystal 

At last I take to the road 

Pedaling light and quickly 

A hawk swoops in front of my handlebars 

What is and has been severed should not be severed 

This time we are better equipped to determine what's going wrong

I need your honesty 

This time we will ride through the winter 

Taking notes

 

Horse and rider move seamlessly atop the bookshelf 

Hefty brown ceramic vase hand-made by a friend 

Thick glass milk bottle filled partly with water 

A large, taut map of Pennsylvania and New Jersey 

I miss kayaking

Gliding even with lake water

Susie playing with the boy dog from the neighborhood, whirling and sprinting across the grass 

The brightest red maples flaming into late fall 

Hanna's bright eyes as she barks at me for dinner 

I'm starting to take notes again 

 

i

a

m

t

o

o

t

i

r

e

d

o

k

a

y

Things that have been ruined by capitalism: an inexhaustive list

 

the internet 

farmers markets 

higher education 

government 

bike prices 

Amy's frozen meals prices 

Burt's Bees 

donwtowns in small but increasingly popular cities 

wooden flooring 

Etsy 

tiny houses 

Airstreams 

(increasingly) mountain towns 

fencing 

cellphones 

letter writing 

housing 

atlases 

It's been a long time since I won the horse figurine raffle

 

No matter. It's toxic to cats 

I wish I wasn't so anxious about it 

I want it 

And 

Body tensing up 

Feels like I'm floating 

If the puppy hadn't needed to play I wouldn't have moved from the couch 

I shrug into his burgundy winter coat and throw a tiny blue ball with a jangly bell inside it

She hauls ass into the leaves 

Biking too awakens me 

I raced a Bobcat and won 

Ran out of food 

Hungry and filled with lactic acid 

16 miles still from home 

The sun's rays -- 

resplendent

 

Hard not to feel a little better when you're cuddled with two dogs and a cat on the couch 

I do feel like I'm seeing pretty clearly 

She came into my life as a gift 

Little monkey mouth 

Hard not to feel gripped with despair 

I haven't been so altered in so long 

The fiddle leaf fig in the yellow pot is dead

 

 

I've gone so far backwards 

Re-seeing everything 

Rewriting everything

The gift, the suffering, the tedium of this moment 

 

All I want to do is ride my bike and garden and sit in the woods and read and write 

 

 

Hiding away again 

Not pulling

A younger perspective would be that my body has forsaken me 

 

She's taking care of me 

In the language she knows  

I am so overwhelmed

Years of grief compressed into eleven months 

 

 

So my eye is swollen, there's a rash on my hand, my pelvis aches 

My vitality

My seeing

Feeling

 

 

Struggling to edit

Inner critic on the loose

It's not him any more

 

 

The problem is me 

the things I've been through 

And what they've done to me

And whether I am now the person I want and choose to be

 

Yesterday: 

a Great Blue Heron in the creek 

Resist summation 

You're getting more and more put together and I am devolving 

I can barely manage to put on real pants 

Of course. Before you never had the option

Pour the cranberry juice into the water 

Stretch your hamstrings

Take it

 

 

 

 

 

Velvet Sea

 

Tab after tab 

Atrocities everywhere 

The rotten core of humanity 

The best of it 

Vital to see—

nonnegotiable—

The red sun thrashing above the Pacific 

Is it ever okay to stop looking 

Trying to find the words

While my country pays for a genocide 

Like I paid for eggs and non-dairy creamer at the natural food store early evening 

I tuck native plants into the soil 

Call my representatives 

Leave another voicemail 

Text my friends

Stand in vigil downtown with other members of my community 

Light a candle 

Rake the wet leaves from my absent neighbors' driveway

Rake the piled leaves onto a large brown tarp 

Drag the tarp down the driveway, a corner gripped in each hand   

Carefully tip the leaves into the gutter 

Carry the mail to the garage and stack it softly on the wooden step leading into my neighbors' home 

Language, they say, has to break 

There are no words for this 

We make them 

Or 

We stop doing heretofore unspeakable things 

We must be honest.

They have always been done. 

Now a plurality of people, power to them, are trying to speak to it  

That's the hope here: How many people are trying to find the words 

Bubbles

 

I'm feeling grumpy and tired

Big day, big week 

Overstimulated 

The lone 

rain 

drops

onto 

the

cold 

still

pool 

I'm still curious 

Remember the cacao ceremonies 

You can be that person and this one 

We're almost done with soap

 

The pretext falls away 

Almost let myself off the hook 

The point isn't to do it only when you feel up to doing it 

This isn't punishment. 

I love you. 

I am going to host a gathering. 

People will be asked to bring a story.

Or

People will be asked to bring poetry.

The rules are pretty straightforward.

I remember: He drove two and a half hours to hear me read a paragraph.

He asked me for help.

Has anyone ever asked you for help before? 

How could it not soften your heart

 

going to the poetry reading at the college as a 36-year-old hits different 

I think more about the poets as people 

Whether she hates her day job as a dishwasher at the old folks' home or if she's happy for its simplicity after years of case work 

Whether she wishes she didn't have to work, at the social services agency or the old folks' home or anywhere else—decades later and still toiling 

The degree to which she is striving to look happy to be there, even though she must be so tired, or whether she is a person capable of being that truly happy about reading poetry even while tired or maybe, if not unfathomably, she is not even feeling all that tired while working a day job

How his slender 60-year-old body feels while he perches on the backless chair made of taut nylon stitching stretched between a couple stubby horseshoes of plastic  

How they've sustained their writing life when, decades into it, they are speaking for an audience of eight people  

How they practice loving each other

What they will do when they finish the poetry reading and the chatting afterward and go home

 

white towels

 

Flapping from clotheslines 

I'm learning to corner tighter and faster 

My Dad and I operate somewhere different together 

He reaches for me there and I hold his hand 

A rare pleasant hangout 

Puppies have a way of relieving tension 

Suzie runs from room to room, yanks a hunk from the monstera leaf

Remember when I traveled to and around Central Europe 

The statues in Austria were so big and so heavy 

I remember eating strawberries in Prague 

Monday at 2:45pm: the perfect time to duck onto the rail trail 

I shout hello to my old friend's dad as I blast past him downtown 

Surrender in my ears 

Tires crunching fallen leaves 

A respite from wind and figurative weather 

I am easing back into poetry 

He is home and I am grateful 

The shoes are still sitting in the driveway 

Even though it's been so hard, I think I'm where I'm supposed to be 

Then I worry that's the masochism coming back (so contagious here)

But I think

green / night

 

The sun was there and then it wasn't 

The ride started cold 

Neighborhoods teeming with skeletons, Frankensteins, a small Hulk peering out from behind the bushes 

It takes me 15 miles to remember how to do this 

I am trying to metabolize grief 

The longer the ride, the better

Horizons orange and gold

Then darkness

Twenty-seven miles later 

I woke and read, listened to a Patti Smith album, took the puppy for a walk past so many guttered leaf piles 

Met with a friend, rode for two hours. Spooned yam and apple soup from a speckled ceramic bowl 

Yesterday: an intervention 

Today: everyone but me cosigns it didn't happen 

Me, a crazy person 

I feel it out and then scuttle back to my chosen one in gratitude 

I am finding the value of saying less 

Soon we will pull the teabags from their paper boxes and drop them into boiling water 

tired / sounds

 

electro-pop music made by a machine

thick pretzel bag crinkling 

tikataka controller 

British announcers 

The crackle of my itchy hand 

Memories, pulsating - his crying 

soft whoof of breath through my nostrils 

molars crunching thin pretzels 

his arms opening 

My blood, buzzing through the arch of my right foot 

Eye drops

 

I was trying to have a nice day 

Took the dogs for a walk in the yellow-orange woods at lunch time 

Made weekend plans with a friend 

Went to the poetry reading 

Pulled bright green chard and shining purple carrots from the farmer's paper bag 

Chopped the vegetables for a curry while the onions simmered 

Put on a Patti Smith record 

I was three and a half songs in and starting to feel a little okay 

I knew before I answered 

My Dad is in the hospital again 

I know how hard it is to be the voice of hope in the face of someone else's unrelenting despair 

For so many years I was the hope 

Now I am the despair 

Is love actually on the island

 

Drink your tea, June 

Sweep the leaves from the porch 

Clear the mail off the kitchen island 

Moisturize your dry hands 

Write back to your friends 

Face the shame of it 

Pull the weeds 

I wished for somebody else to do it for me 

There's hope for me yet

 

Press the compress to my swollen eye

Hanna sleeps soundly on the red couch 

Suzie sleeps soundly on the thick, dark gray blanket filling her round pen 

Wilson sleeps soundly on the black and wood reading chair made in 1958 

I find somewhere else to sit 

I'm an apparition of my former self 

I know what you mean about the penury 

Mine has been of the spiritual variety 

A refrain 

It's been too much for too long 

I was taught we're too good for problems like that 

I was taught to spring from sheen to sheen never stopping 

I was taught it is shameful to suffer 

All I want to do is read and write and bike and garden and walk in the woods 

I keep trying to tell people—

how lonely I am

This, too, is a form of loneliness