(Not Haiku) I didn't know it, but

I didn't know it, but I am a light.

A big, shining one.

I pick up black light t-shirts 

& eyeshadow that glows like the moon.

I glare with swears and sarcasm, 

but can low light those things too.

My light can't be snuffed out. My life proves this.

Though unplugged for seconds, minutes, days, even months, 

somehow

I get plugged in and

start lighting up again.

Though the "Best by" date

Though the "Best by" date

is well past,

and the package has a hole,

the tea still smells like apricot 

and Spring and reminds me of scones

with jam and that 

though things are not as robust as they once were,

they still have value.

Today

Today it's like when this started
I'm full of snot and aches and self-hate
Only now I'm 55, not 19,

and the recurrent URIs settled
into a stupidly-named diagnosis that make it sound like I need a nap instead of a new body.

I always hoped I could be Somebody
so the brilliant hatred of self-hate would fade like all too-bright lights
and eventually be an anecdote I'd tell in the past tense, like something I grew out of or something that just went away.

Like if you read this poem-story
and like it
maybe the hard light that shows everything I think is bad and wrong and undeserving will dim and there will be something left
worth loving.

Not Haiku & Whiny

I want to be elsewhere.

Somewhere with wildflowers 

and birds who are alive.

Not sitting here in a quasi-comfortable chair, smelling sanitizers through my mask,

looking at the ugly floor & my phone.

I attempt politeness when the doctor comes in

and tells me the test results are normal.

It's not his fault 

I am frustrated,

Or that so many previous doctors have been unhelpful jerks for the last 30 odd years.

I carry all this with me, plus this disease no one understands.

No wonder I'm beyond exhausted.

For Maia

The window's closed,

but I hear birds. Maybe

they're discussing Spring.

Written 4/2/2024

It's cold in the house.
I open the windows anyway 

to smell Spring.

Written a couple days ago

 

California Bluebirds

They say

There aren't really Bluebirds 
in California.
We have Scrub Jays, but they still mean
Spring. And I just saw one.

Not Haiku

The cold wakes us up.

The young cat squeaks & squibbles

& runs around as usual.

The old cat & I plod toward the heater.

Sharing the space, we get warm.

A Letter

This letter to myself was one of the things I was supposed to do as part of a 12-day "Self-Care Challenge." Ugh. At least parts of it are amusing. 

A Letter

First of all, 17-Year Old Me, I want you to know I tried, but it didn't work out how we planned.

I know I'm not the person we hoped I'd be. I'm not a genius or rich or important. I don't have a career. We could never decide on one of those anyway. And we got sick. Maybe you'll understand why 19-54 Year Old Us was in so much denial about it. But I know you'll understand why I didn't fight for us. Which is probably the same reason I was in so much denial.

I did do us a favor & stay sober. No being  murdered by truckers, bikers, or an abusive boyfriend like we thought! No more being raped because we were too drunk to get away! No more stealing from running buddies & stores! Just a lot of coffee & 6 more years of cigarettes & taking our own & other people's inventories. Plus a lot of fun. It never seems like enough fun, but that's just us wanting permanent euphoria again.

And I did meet a rad person. He's way better than anyone we could have imagined. He's a little nuts, but, then again, who isn't? He is the best person we know.

And we have lots of friends now. We don't upset people as often. We keep our home reasonably clean & spoil our cats & dote on other people's pets. We are a decent person. Uncle Eddie & Aunt Pat have us in their lives, & you know they'd have bailed if we turned out to be a selfish asshole.

Like you, I am still not sure our life is of use to anyone. That idea wanes more & more, but very s-l-o-w-l-y. I thought for sure we'd be dead already or deliriously euphoric all day long by now, but we just have the same old roller coaster life most lower-middle class Americans get. We have it better than many.

I hope you can forgive our life of bland ordinariness that features a lot of enjoyment from reruns of "Castle." I hope you can see that our life has value even though our dreams did not come true. Those were all about making up for how we thought we were inferior anyway.

I do plan to kill us off once adult incontinence wear becomes a reality, so maybe we can enjoy the 20ish years we have left in such a way that people will understand why we want "You've Got Another Thing Coming" played at our funeral.

Sincerely,
Your Almost 55-Year Old Self

Written Just Now

Daily

I lay before myself

a long list
of things

To Do

To Think

To Be

There's no way to accomplish it all

I add more

sometimes even more

Not walks or stopping to smell flowers, No.

Every moment must be an accomplishment.

Then I wonder
so often
why I am so sad &
hate myself so much

Dark

Dark,

& the sound of crickets 

Blackberry Season

I reach for 

another blackberry,

thorn in my thumb.

---

Grabbing despite thorns,

I eat a blackberry,

hot from the sun. 

Yesterday

Glorious! 

Ripe peach over the sink,

no napkin.

Rewrite!

Rewrite

June gloom.
I catalog regrets on
pages of my heart.

Original - June 2011

In gloomy June rain
I catalog regrets on
pages of my heart.

Prompt was: Predator or Prey?

Baring my teeth 
to look predatory,
fooling no one.

Not Haiku

I don't know about joy, but

fresh air,

green hills with yellow poppies,

turkeys milling by the creek --

I must be close.

3/28

Listening to the rain,
imagining green &
blossoms.

March 2, 2023

Walking on cold sand,

the gull & I 

ignore each other.

Written today

No
is a complete sentence, yet I
explain and explain

Hearing thunder,

waiting for rain

under blankets.