Before the poem, news on a children’s book that my husband James Stead and I co-wrote, illustrated by talented artist April VanDeGrift! We Live in Boise is available now, and you can hear an NPR “Idaho Matters” interview about it here.
Now, to the stranger:
I met Beth at the house of a friend who cuts my family’s hair. Beth stopped by and we recognized each other, but could not decipher how. We rattled off our regular places. None of them caught. It will come, some random moment, a eureka. This is one of the things I love best about my city as it is today, the feeling of everyone knowing everyone, somehow, even if we cannot pinpoint how.
The Stranger: Beth
The Word: Memories
The poem I wrote:
There is this lovely trick
to poems, how
with each read
they get shorter, at last
small enough
to vanish into atoms
leaving only
the world,
our memories,
and us to look clear-
eyed, straight ahead.
The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.
April 3, 2019 at 9:30 pm
At The Greyhound Station
It’s so much worse when you’re wrong
about why people are laughing at you.
So much harder to be gracious
when your assassin asks
you to wait just a minute.
Your stained pink pajama pants
speak of someone else’s memories
that you hope to kidnap, nurture,
raise as your own.
You’ve been stuck
behind a cattle truck
trailing moist lines in that dust
from which you were made
and to which you wish to return
rather than climbing aboard this bus
full of empty eyes.
You arm yourself
with discordant words
made of sharp consonants.
Count on them for safety
while you sleep.
Don’t even dream of soft vowels.
April 4, 2019 at 11:18 am
The Forgotten Goddess
Once I was a Goddess, worshiped far and wide,
I wielded power in all aspects, I could not be denied.
I had priests and priestesses, my multitudes in church…
Then I became the Fallen One, pushed from my lofty perch.
My temples have all crumbled. My altars turned to dust.
My effigies destroyed and mistreated in disgust.
There is no one left to worship me, supplicating on their knees,
Or beseeching me with promises. No one seeks to please.
There are no more sacrifices. I liked those fatted cows.
Gone the nubile virgins; forgotten are their vows.
All my acolytes have left me. The zelatrix, as well.
I am left to ignominious anonymity. This is my version, Hell.
I’m not even left in story. I, who, ruled all from above.
Can no longer command obeisance or bask in fealty and love.
Once I hurled lightning bolts, storms thundered at my call.
Now, I cannot spark a firefly. I have lost it all.
What happened to my glory? I was held in awe.
Did I fall out of fashion? Does hubris go before the fall?
I thought I was a good Goddess, evenhanded, most times fair.
I was beautiful and terrible. Cross me if you dare.
But as my adherents dwindled, thus my power was diminished.
The writing in the heavens told that I would soon be finished.
Lost unto the darkness. No living person knows my name,
Could the merest thought or utterance fan ember into flame?
Tenuous is my tether to a lost, shattered artifact.
Would it be discovered, could I begin my journey back?
Even now, as I am fading, like the gloaming before night,
I’m not even found in memories. I’m lost to all with sight.
Perhaps, I should surrender to the darkness of abyss.
Once mighty, I am fallen. It has come to this.
April 6, 2019 at 10:11 pm
Memories
I took her down to scaffolding once,
just the bones,
re-built her in ways “becoming” of a lady:
so appropriate, just right for human consumption.
And when she was consumed
I thought it proper,
a job well done.
I stopped watching,
only turned by chance as she went under,
winking at me, appropriately, to say
“See you on the flip side.”
No struggle- no fight- and oh, God- that is what
yanked me from my chair to dive in and grab her out by
her hair
and whisper back to her
memories of fierceness and freedom.
And when her eyes
leveled
I saw that we could never go back.
April 9, 2019 at 10:23 am
In my mind thoughts ramble,
Days and a time of falling in love
Knowing from the time we met
Memories of a time before this life
When I promised I would find him.
Time on earth spent with the one I love
Have become days and nights
Filled with creating a memory.
Now today I followed you
Behind an ambulance
Stopping to pray.
Dear Father in Heaven
Thy will be done.
God will send immediate peace
When we turn toward Him.
Another Memory,
My love and I share.
Age defines our relationship
Life is constant reducing clamor
Focusing on what we Do have
Memories
April 14, 2019 at 4:37 pm
Mostly they are good, these memories of Colette.
Where are my children? her mother asked, searching the garden.
Hiding, seeing her look, hearing her call
brings smiles, silence.
She cannot find us is their shared promise.
They were gone, at least to her, even before she looked and called.
Push away. Move back. Move somewhere, anywhere.
Break the sinew, the blood, the shared, the ride together.
Covered in brown stains, the binding of the book loosens.
Petals and pages fall away.
Where are my children? her mother asked, searching the garden.
They are not hers.