Day 72 of #the100dayproject - Wild Thoughts

Wild Thoughts

Wind kicked a can through the gas station parking lot

into my path, onto my foot, and I thought it might

have coronavirus on its flattened aluminum and

that is how my days spiral, into flaccid thoughts

of pandemics and wind carrying coughs and

sneezes into the cruxes of my nasal passages.

Where will we go from here except further

down the abyss of fear? That a soda can

turns into a vector to destroy nations?

Day 71 of #the100dayproject - Michigan

This is an image during the coronavirus pandemic that has stuck with me for some time now. I can't get it out of my head, these men posing for the camera as the sieged the Michigan State capitol building, protesting the stay at home orders.

Michigan

The checkered floor of the capitol

with checkered men, wide stances,

mouths covered in homemade masks.

Assault is not the word to use but rifle

and conceal and carry. Their second

amendment right to bring their bodies

full of violence and red plaid into

this building and pose for this camera

as if they could claim this earth

theirs with the power vested

in their AK-47s and AR-15s.

Day 70 of #the100dayproject - Obit

Obit

They raised themselves from adult to old,

schooled their grandchildren in the art

of sitting in a chair and watching the world

pass them by, showed those children how to

fiddle with their hands like playing with time.

All that gray hair on their head a countdown,

just another way of saying settled and

content in every language except death

and obituaries. They lived and they died.

Their bodies summed up in the column

space of the local newspaper in past

tense, only read by those closest to death.

Day 69 of #the100dayproject - Night Shade

Night Shade

Morning glories fold their trumpets,

white petals like moon sticks at dusk.

My feet tired of the longest days;

they want to close themselves

onto cool tile and perch atop

a pile of pillows, rest in the night

as the stars unfurl their light,

illuminating plants in the garden

creating night shade beneath

vine and tree, dark within darkness.

My body has spaces where even

the brightest light cannot shine,

yet petals open there 

when I fold my eyes.

Day 68 of #the100dayproject - At Dusk

At Dusk

Barfoot and the sun slows into gold;

the cottonwood tufts and dandelion

seeds turn into specs of shimmer.

The miners and panhandlers never

needed to rush to California or

to the vast Yukon. All the gold is here,

glowing on this slope in the foothills

of the Cascades. Their hands rough

from their labor, their faces lined

with worry; here, the only labor

is to watch barefoot in the dry

summer grass and wait for the sun

to slant and tilt the earth into

precious metal. They would

scramble then, arms reaching

upward for their fortunes

like the vines of the

blackberry brambles lusting

for the last piece of sunlight.

Day 67 of #the100dayproject - Love

Love

Your head in my lap,

black curls a ripple

of blackberries

in a big silver bowl

ripe with your musk

of citrus and cumin.

Your eyes are moonless,

starless, the deepest

night except the reflection

of me looking at you

and we are mirrors.

I do not need

to journey across

the world to find

myself. I am here

in your orbit and

you in mine, both of us

circling each other

as if both of us are a sun,

a guiding star.

Day 66 of #the100dayproject - The Pain of Being

The Pain of Being

I need to know the earth will stay green

All of us worshippers of sunlight, wind, and rain;

our bodies wild, untamed, desperate for being.

Bears lumber through yards thin and lean,

gnash their winter teeth to lessen their pain.

I need to know the earth will stay green.

The kittens under the shed cry and keen.

Their mother left. Her fur bitter, eyes insane.

Our bodes wild, untamed, desperate for being

like the squirrels that scuffle up the trees,

their hunger drowned by the roar of an airplane.

I need to know the earth will stay green

that the rivers will never lose their gleam

and the mountains will never wax or wane.

Our bodies wild, untamed desperate for being,

tongues outstretched to taste the ocean’s aquamarine

and smell the wet musk of loam and terrain.

I need to know the earth will stay green

with our bodies wild, untamed desperate for being.

Day 65 of #the100dayproject - Existentialist

Existentialist

Anger is the taste of coffee without

sugar or milk to sweeten it up.

I want a little bitterness in my body;

the taste of caffeine straight up,

keep me lucid for argument’s sake.

I want the edge in my voice to stay

awhile, put up its tired feet and sip

that dark black brew. I want to flex

and sharpen my claws; a window

is a window is a window into my soul;

window being a different kind of

mirror to see the person reflected

behind me to view into them, reaching

for the blunt object to rid me

from this earth. Or it is me reflected

back. It couldn’t be me. It couldn’t

be my eyes or mouth curled in violence.

And yet, it is. I can hardly recognize myself;

my form like iodine in a clear glass of water,

the stain of coffee on a white carpet,

I have become the streak of bitter glass.

Day 64 of #the100dayproject - California Poppy

California Poppy

Wind

of semi-trucks, traffic and concrete,

bitumen, litter, shredded tires. Leavings.

Detritus.

Homeless objects lost in our creations,

our architecture of efficiency. Then, there.

Look.

The poppy, at home in the soulless

spaces, roots digging into every corner,

groove,

and crack. Living on the shoulders

of overpasses, freeways, or between

slabs

of sidewalks, roads, and medians.

Subsisting on the smallest speck of dirt,

oracles

              of life beneath our crumbling

structures, our failed attempts to build

better

              than what the earth provides. All

these orange flowers shaking stems and

petals

              as if they are bodies in trance

divining the language of the earth,

conduits,

              as the planet cradle us,

and continues to give and give and

give.

Day 63 of #the100dayproject - Constant Companion

Constant Companion

I am married to the ache of my body,

tuned like a musical instrument

That must be plucked and played.

Pain my life long companion,

growing old together towards

a horizon that, naturally, ends in death.

Day 62 of #the100dayproject - Progeny

Progeny

Children rip tears in the fabric of the earth

creating roads and tunnels of futures

more terrible than the last.

Day 61 of #the100dayproject - Grace

Grace

Stripes on spider legs, how beautiful they

must be to spiders. How long and lovely,

agile, like thin boned fingers threading

a needle. The embodiment of grace,

walking on walls, ceilings, and water,

dangling from every surface.

Skittering across kitchen floors like

ballet dancers rushing on and off stage

to form a union of organized flurry.

Such design to give so many eyes

to view the world, to give the will

to weave string into webs, the work

to capture mammal dreams to ponder

like reading tomes of books, something

to be watched and observed, if not less

than, at the very least, equals on this earth.

Day 55 through 60 of #the100dayproject

Hello!

Days 50 through 55 were spend on revision between May 26th and June 1st and days 55 through 60 were spent also on revising my poem Racism 2.0. Because of the murder of George Floyd, I decided to stop posting for sometime and give social media a break from writing and instead be more active on the protests on Twitter and to work on writing in my journal about my own privilege and grapple with my own ignorant behavior and racism. If we want to see change in this world, we can only look towards ourselves and see our own problems as something that can be changed, evolved. I am not a bad person, no. Can I improve and learn so I can be better? Yes. The last couple of weeks have been meant to take a breath, read, listen, and oftentimes, cry. I am picking up where I left off at day 61 which should have been on 6/7/2020, but my Day 61 is now 6/15/202. This means I will not complete my 100 day project until 7/25/2020. I'm glad I took this time to sit back and listen. It doesn't mean I didn't write everyday, but I wrote with no intention to make poetry. I wrote with the intention to evolve.