Day 29 of #the100dayproject - Phase 4: We Are Not Ready

For the past four days, I've been writing a series of poems based off of a Washington state #covid-19 policy that was flowed out by Governor Inslee. He wants to use a four phase approach to reopening Washington which he outlines here. I used that PDF as a prompt, trying to visualize how reopening will look, how it will feel. All the while, I feel the tension in the air. How can this plan work when so many people, so many states are disregarding the gravity of this #pandemic ?

Phase 4: We Are Not Ready

I sit in an auditorium, sounds amplified,

the building shell-like, the shape of an echo.

People file in, sit with friends and family,

a cacophony of conversations, each person

wants to be heard. There are no distances

between us.

Again, I am the fish tucked

and laid neat into a can.

Again, I ride the bus,

and stand in a cramped elevator.

Again,

the awkward silences and squeezed lines

outside of coffee shops. We are many

and each one of us a host, a vector.

No one will forget this time, when we stood

apart, our lips and nose covered up until

none of us could decipher what part

of us is human. It is the purpose of a virus

to move into and through us, change us,

like how a river carves its signature into land

with canyon, gorge, marsh and delta.

So too the virus has embellished us

with its marker, and yet, we don’t know

if it is indelible or not.

Day 28 of #the100dayproject - Phase 3: Gather in Numbers

Phase 3: Gather in Numbers

It's been so long since we saw

each one of our faces, our faces,

not the pixilated RBG version

of our faces. I have spoken

with your simulacra for hours,

listened to the garbled sounds

of you through laptop speakers.

I’ve looked at your face as a flat

screen, your picture in picture,

only to realize the camera lens

is you, not the picture of you.

I could not look you in the eye,

nut now, here you are, a body

moving through the world.

At one point in the distancing,

I believed that you stopped

being real, I imagined everyone

else was not real; quarantine

became the truth. Now I can touch

your hand, hug you close to me.

The atoms of your body comprise

you of you. Atoms are like pixels

and my body is made of atoms;

I think I am what I am, and you are

what you are. Even the stars

are like millions of pixels;

the night sky a screen lightening

as if the stars, too, must shelter in place.

Day 27 of #the100dayproject - Phase 2: The Eyes See New

Phase 2: The Eyes See New

I move my magical thinking outside

The container of my body, into

The open air for all to witness

This collection of treasures. Ideas

Can become so powerful they

Solidify like water into ice, transform

Their intangible selves into objects.

So too does the idea of us sleeping

Outside, our bodies content with

our sleeping bags, the sky as our tent.

So too does the idea of setting camp,

The methods of pitching and staking,

The wrangling of poles and herding

Of waterproof canvas. So too does

The idea of building a fire with

Newspaper, kindling and branches,

Creating the orange throated roar.

So too does the idea of placing

Our chairs, popping the tab

Of a beer and warming

Our feet close to the fire pit.

So too does the idea of

Our conversations over

Campfire, how our voices

Wonder and weave through

The night as if our language

Grew legs and moved through

The dark. So too does the idea

Of being outside, so too does

The idea of being; the fear

Lifting as if the fire could burn

the virus, turn it to coal and ash;

we could use the light of the fire

to guide us to the next parts

of our collective turmoil.

Day 26 of #the100dayproject - Phase 1: The Slow Reopening

Phase 1: The Slow Reopening

Stay with the couches and carpets,

The wood floors and vinyl. A home

Is a home to stay at home. Brick

And mortar, we all have time

To lay on our floors and look up

At the ceiling as if we are laying

In grass, looking at sky and cloud.

We have the time to memorize

The shapes we find in the popcorn

Ceilings, find the images of our desires.

Then we go upstairs and memorize

Every creak and sigh of the steps.

Through our bedroom windows,

We view the street below, a scenic

Display of asphalt, concrete, trimmed

Lawns, and the parallel line of cars

Each one of them parked, not a single

Space open. All of us going nowhere

Fast.

Day 25 of #the100dayproject - Keys

Keys

We hide them under door mats

and beneath the stairs of our deck,

under the toad stools and sculptures

of frogs inside of our garden.

Brass, silver, steel, and sometimes gold;

they’re inside my coat pocket or

in the slit of your wallet, but we forget

and leave without them, lock

the doors. All of our plan Bs not

where they’re supposed to be,

so we open every screen until

we find a window to open like a door.

Day 30 #napowrimo - day 24 #the100dayproject - Almost Rain

I decided to write an acrostic poem for my final napowrimo poem. But this is not good-bye! I will be writing a poem a day for the 100 day project, officially starting on 5/1.

Almost Rain

Right now,
eternity circles back into
time, but I only
understand how the water in a
river surges with rain or how the
night is always followed by a
sunrise.

Day 29 #napowrimo - day 23 #the100dayproject - The Dark One

The Dark One

You moved darkness with your form

and so we named you shadow;

the only kitten born in the litter

without fur white as clouds.

You inherited the night into

your fur; you did not glisten

with light, you absorbed it.

You matured and your muscles

grew lean, honed for the kill.

Your true form emerged

in twilight as you wedged yourself

deep into long grass, beneathe

oak trees, where you waited

for creatures to scurry past,

the night sky a witness to the blood

and spent fur, your hungry massacre.

Day 28 #napowrimo - day 22 #the100dayproject - A Room of One’s Own

We were tasked today to write of a room that we remember. My room is my office back in my old home in Connecticut.

A Room of One’s Own

On the second floor, I walk into my room

With its aged carpet, a gray overcast,

And its crooked closet doors about to

Fall off of their hinges. My bookshelves

heaped and straining with tomes of poetry.

The windows white paint chipped,

baseboard clicking awake to warm

my space. The smell of grapefruit

and jasmine; my desk tucked into a corner

covered in the colors of knickknacks

and homemade ceramic pots, lopsided,

filled with bookmarks, pencils and pens.

Perched on top, an open notebook,

Its pale lined pages like my open palms

asking to be filled.

Day 27 #napowrimo - day 21 #the100dayproject - Homemade Cocktails

My review of my own drink....

Homemade Cocktails

The mint could be more muddled,

the cucumber more thinly sliced.

The ice cubes are gigantic and

every time I tip my glass,

they hit me in the lip.

I want fresh lime juice,

but I get the leftovers

from a week before

a hint and aftertaste

of refrigerator

Then the glass sweats

Leaving a pale rim on

my end table,

but the half ounce

of rum and orange

liqueur obscures

that it is served

in a coffee mug.

Day 24 #napowrimo - day 18 #the100dayproject - Pineapple

Pineapple

I pick it up with its spiky crown,

grip its rough, scaled body;

a blush of yellow at the bottom

and gradient of green to its top.

Some people recommend pulling

a segment of its crown to determine

if it’s ripe or not, but I sniff its bottom.

If it’s ripe, it smells like morning and

sunshine, it smells like a yawn and

a full body stretch, the budding

of jasmine and a sliver of ginger.

If it’s unripe, it smells like nothing.

When I find the right one, I carry it

under the crook of my arm, precious

cargo. At home, I sharpen my big knife

and separate crown and bottom

with a fibrous thump. And there,

the sunburst of yellow flesh, core

tough and thick like a piece of wood.

I sit it up on my cutting board

and shear off its spiny flesh,

scale by scale, side by side,

my hands burning with its juice and pulp.

Seeds and specs of skin exposed,

and it is naked, yellow, a gorgeous

shape, like the glass top of a lantern

illuminating every corner of the kitchen.

I cut and slice, divide its brightness into

cubes, each one a geometry of starlight

or the physical capture of a sunbeam.

I can bite into that flesh and take that light,

digest it into myself, illuminate like a star

in the night, explode into a solar system.

I’ve tasted the stars and the milky way;

I’ve tasted the planets and sunshine

and they tasted sweet.

Day 23 #napowrimo - day 17 #the100dayproject - B

Today’s prompt asks us to write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or the letters that form a short word. I chose to write a poem with a letter…

B

Write a 3 first and then write I and 3,

it makes B. There is a thirteen, I 3, in B.

A number in a letter, or a one and a three.

Three combinations of numbers in a B,

1, 3, I3. Doesn’t the 3 look like BooBs? Or

a rounded Butt? And isn’t it fitting

that both words start with B?

And Brittany starts with B for BooBs,

Butt, Butter, Buns and Butterfly.

B is such a yellow letter, full of sunshine

And naked Body parts, the sand on a Beach;

the Beige walls of a Building; all of them Beautiful

B’s.

Day 22 #napowrimo - day 16 #the100dayproject - Ghazal

I'm on prompt today by borrowing a Hindi phrase and crafting a ghazal around it.

जंगल मेँ मोर नाचा किसने देखा? (jangal mein mor naca kisne dekha)

Direct translation: Peacock danced in the forest, who saw?

Ghazal

I combed my fingers through your hair as you slept

and a peacock danced in the forest, who saw?

I washed the floors and cleaned the dishes

and a bear danced in the forest, who saw?

I fluffed your pillows and hung up your suits

and a tiger danced in the forest, who saw?

I scrubbed the toilet bowl and the stained sink

and a monkey danced in the forest, who saw?

I whispered I love you and it was lost in our bed sheets

and a cobra danced in the forest, who saw?

I made you coffee with sugar and a dollop of cream

and an elephant danced in the forest, who saw?

I walked down the forest trail and never came back,

who saw?

I took my clothes off and danced naked in the forest,

who saw?

Day 21 #napowrimo - day 15 #the100dayproject - The Golden Finch

Today's prompt I found Inchjostru by Patrizia Gattaceca and then crafted my own poem based off of the homophonic translation of her poem. My poem ended up being a bit nonsensical, but it was fun and challenging to try this out.

INCHJOSTRU

Inchjostru sangue nostru

Sognu viaghju o segnu

Goccia à goccia piuvana

Acqua per la mio terra

Moru frombu di mare

Sale u vechju rimbeccu

Mughja l’anticu mostru

Cù la primiera notte

In chjostru

Avvene ch’ùn vi pare

Più vi risona l’eccu

Di u silenziu à la sarra

A sperenza ci và è

L’inchjostru ci si sparghje

In chjostru...

The Golden Finch

Flinch through song, these instruments

can segregate the violin in secrets.

Go see and go see, peer into the vain

water of existence. The musical terror

morns the front of a marquee,

sailing over the velvet red walk.

Magic antiques the most

celebrated, the prime note

in staccato, in avenues

churning, we part. Pews,

lined with reason and accents,

divide the silence of the savior

and the sacrament of our bodies.

A finch flies just through and chimes of strings

and changes the beak, the mouth, the only instrument.

Day 20 #napowrimo - day 14 #the100dayproject - Homemade from Reno, NV

Homemade from Reno, NV

You found those bits of oak leaf

on a hike near Lake Tahoe and

collaged them on top of a photo

of pool water cut from a magazine.

You signed your name with a heart

and two years since you sent it

to say Merry Christmas and we

still have it. The edges of glue

yellowing from sunlight, the leaves

deteriorating.

Broke, fresh out of

college, living in a town far from home.

young and naive with your ambitions;

you want to save the world.

And I wanted to shelter you from

The truth. That none of it is as easy

                                           as it seems.

But you made this in the small space

of your shared apartment, bought

a stick of glue with your last dollar

and a postage stamp with your credit card.

I have not words except you’ve already

saved us, you’ve saved the world.

Day 19 #napowrimo - day 13 #the100dayproject - E Pluribus Unum - Out of Many, One

I had a lot of fun writing this one...

E Pluribus Unum - Out of Many, One

They only show themselves

when I’m least expecting it;

I can’t search for them,

they’ll know and hide themselves

between the cracks of the sidewalk

or under the shade of dandelion leaves.

But when I come upon them,

I know something good

will happen, and that good

always arrives in threes.

They are the forgotten ones

their rough edges ground into

concrete or asphalt, grit and dirt,

obscuring our dear Lincoln.

A great president run over

by car tires, stepped on,

spit on, left behind,

dropped, and tossed.

Not worth the effort

of bending over and wedging

a fingernail underneath

to lift one cent up.

What is a penny worth

except the confirmation

of my superstition.

Picture me slathering

my collection with hand

sanitizer when I get home

from my walk, all of the

green blooming on his face;

more corrosion than

he ever had to handle

of corruption in his lifespan.

How hard he worked

to gather our broken

pieces into his hands.

And now look, all of his labor

disregarded, undone,

with the sweep

of a fake coppertoned hand.

Day 18 #napowrimo - day 12 #the100dayproject - Ode to the Scent of Spring

Today's prompt was to write a poem about a small pleasure. Yesterday I walked outside of my home and the scent of spring hit me, I took a deep breath and it smelled like sunlight, grass, trees, growth, honey bees, pollen, everything. The smell of Spring is everything, and just a small breath of its aroma is a pleasure.

Ode to the Scent of Spring

The earth smells as if it is sleeping

in a hammock, bathing in sunbeams.

It takes a deep breath

and relaxes its muscles.

After a long winter, the sun

warms the ground and

earth ripens into a musk

of growth, soil and roots

digging deeper, tree branches

stretching, so knotted from frost,

they roll their shoulders. The leaves

curled tight to stay warm, now

they unfurl themselves like hands

offering to hold the sunlight,

to store it and keep it a little longer.

It’s the smell of greening, landscapes

sighing in relief as they release

their leaves and shake out their tassels,

filled with honey gold pollen.

It’s the aroma of earth gaining momentum;

the sun and shadows frolicking,

chasing one another, drunk on

the perfume of awakening.

Day 17 #napowrimo - day 11 #the100dayproject - The Fax Machine

For today's prompt, we were enlisted to write a poem about obsolete technology....

The Fax Machine

It still occupies the forgotten

corners of offices beneath water stained

ceiling tiles, next to tired coffee machines.

There are occasions when it rumbles,

takes a breath, and spits out a paper or two.

Only once in a while, a secretary punches

in numbers, lines up papers, and offers

them to the machine, like prayer or alms

to keep it moving through hard times.

Then it orchestrates dial tones

like a wind-up music box from the old days.

When the cubicle dwellers hear it,

they think it could be a bird

that flew through an open window

or a mouse squeaking in the HVAC.

But it’s just the relic with its aura

of toner, the dry aerosol a thumbprint

In the air to mark its territory.

Everyone ready with expletives

To describe the awkward beast,

Its yellowing plastic and the musical

sounds of connection, completion

followed by uncertainty. Somewhere

a copy of something was sent, and always

the fear that it gets there, somewhere,

or nowhere, in some form.

Day 16 #napowrimo - day 10 #the100dayproject - Ode to the Cherry Tree

It's already day 16! Today we were tasked to write a poem that praises someone or something.

Ode to the Cherry Tree

In the morning you powder yourself

with blush and a most delicate rouge;

your blooms shine the pinkest light through my window.

All your petals tender like the clouds

colored by sunrise and sunset;

they confetti the sidewalk to give

a party favor to anyone who walks by.

Your body stretches outward like

the Amazon’s river delta, branching

branching. Your heights scrape the skyline,

each cluster of blossoms a type of feather duster

to clean these city streets, this polluted sky.

You grow into Spring every year to save humanity

and keep the whole world spinning.

Day 15 #napowrimo - day 9 #the100dayproject - Gnossiennes No. 1

Today, I wrote about music, which has always been my inspiration for poetry. Not a day has gone by in my life that music has not been a part of me, physically in me. I remember taking the small key board my brother gave to me when I was four and I started playing full songs by ear. Key by key, I taught myself to listen to sound, the rhythm, the melody and harmony and the piano became my tool for music. It was only when my music teachers started forcing me to learn theory that my obsession and passion died. I was listening to Erik Satie, and it always reminds me of the day my music died.

Gnossiennes No. 1

I learned

music with my ears,

with the vibration on my skin,

the calluses on my fingertips

as I played between

the mysteries and spaces,

between tune and key.

At one time,

I was free

in the landscape of sound,

curving my ear around

the shape of harmony.

But then,

they saw my talent

and forced me to make music

with my eyes. Overnight

I became

a displaced person

in a foreign country

unable to speak

the language

of my oppressor.

I could not feel

the whole or half note.

Music

forced onto staffs

and the little flags on notes,

into a form that I could

                            not translate.

Day 14 #napowrimo - day 8 #the100dayproject - The Riad

I didn't follow today's prompt, but I did write a poem!

The Riad

Lily, myrtle, & woodsmoke;

salt & bread on the tip

of the tongue; wine

cascading into a cup.

Paradise found in the space

between words; let us shuffle

time like a deck of cards.