We are never more rooted
in this big universe than
when our eyes sting and
our heads hang heavy for loss.
When we, a procession of sun
glasses, watch, shifting feet,
as life disappears back into
those thick familiar arms.
Our backs, clothed in black,
savor warmth, unaware that
we are at once joyful and empty,
and crying for ourselves
mirrored in the lowering. How
we know deeply: absence
of something weighs more than
substance, and we fiercely hold on.
of the world
a stew of overjoyed
Maybe when I’m older
the balance changes?
I know when I was younger,
the scale slid far below
the line of happy; Things were so
35 forms a crossroad,
a slow settling into your own bones.
Possibilities shine in the distance,
dirt glows under our feet.
honeysuckle vine trailing
magically across my nose
intricately mixes with fresh grass
feeding greedily on
subtle hints of afternoon storms. My
window is down, my left arm is
surfing air, sun hot on my cheek,
so quick I am again a fresh new driver
heading to the pool,
free, oh so free.
please leave me alone tonight
it’s time for me to tackle
the high mountain of my soul –
reach into the deep caverns of my heart,
pull out my deepest fear,
place it slithering on an empty chair across a table
set for tea for two:
i will wrap my hands around
heated porcelain, examine blue corneas,
take a long steamy sip, molting skin
talking and talking and talking
the truth spills out in a hush:
this snake suns in the shine
of my smile every day, this snake
sings merrily as it swims down
my arteries, quivering, alive,
i try to write it all down before i forget
but the words keep spilling,
keep cooling, disappearing,
the tea is over, and
i sleep more soundly than ever.
I hope you enjoy the following poem by my great-grandmother Alice B. Johnson (taken from her book, Where Children Live, 1958)
I cannot see the brown earth turned
Upon white petals gently blown
Upon the ground where I should spade
My garden plot. Have I not learned
I must not waste one precious day
Of spring? Somehow it will not stay
And wait for seeds that should be sown –
Why MUST I let my heart be swayed
By fallen petals of yesterday –
Why can’t they gently blow away?
To a man who does not exist,
let me save you some trouble:
we will end.
Maybe then you won’t cry when I leave you
for a some day with delicious edges.
We will begin like all others, with a wink.
As light stretches long shadows, we
will gaze beyond a mirror,
nodding to our naked reflections in acquiescence,
and appreciation for the way time reflects in us
like tree rings.
Then some day
I will come to you deliberately
closing the distance between us
with purpose until none is left.
Our bodies will lock together like the
perfect puzzle pieces they are.
My hand will trace history down your spine
while you read aloud from my breasts.
The story ends always the same.
While I haven’t had much chance to post new poetry on this blog recently, I have posted under #micropoetry on Twitter. Keep up with me by following @costa_jl
Enjoy and look for poetry to be back soon!