(no subject)
Tomorrow I am leaving for Not Back to School Camp orientation and I won't be back until September 4th. I'm really excited about this... I will meet amazing people and get to do a job I love. I'm unofficially in charge of baking for both sessions, which, as you know, is my thing. I cannot wait to be immersed in this passionate, creative community again.
I wrote another poem today, inspired by helping Mel pack up some of her books the other day. I like this one because I let it be at least a little wild and unfinished. I'm realizing more and more that I have this compulsion to finish things. I hate loose ends. But that's life, I guess, and will probably be my life for awhile more.
Constructive comments are as always welcome.
Moving
Somewhere I have boxes
of things settling unsettling
intangible. I may have imagined
they were mine the whole time. Touching
is believing there is nothing
like holding something
nothing like waiting for something
in a box. It's a mystery
like Christmas like a cat
it could be anything
and I'll open it asking
alive or dead or alive or dead.
I start to wonder how much space
it takes to pack my life away
how much can the world contain
how long can I sleep
in a suitcase when will this place
be my place. I can know where I am
with unknown momentum
or how fast I'm going who knows
where. Like a small child
on a car ride I want to be there.
I go forward blind I am along
for the ride I will let you know
if there is ever nowhere left
to go and we can carry
my boxes up the stairs and there
will be Christmas wherever
we are we will take
things out of boxes and put them back
in their places and even the cat
will be okay. But until that day
I feel the galaxy twirling
arms open like a ballerina burning
all the stars knowing where they are
while I wander under their light
wonder which one to follow on.
I wrote another poem today, inspired by helping Mel pack up some of her books the other day. I like this one because I let it be at least a little wild and unfinished. I'm realizing more and more that I have this compulsion to finish things. I hate loose ends. But that's life, I guess, and will probably be my life for awhile more.
Constructive comments are as always welcome.
Moving
Somewhere I have boxes
of things settling unsettling
intangible. I may have imagined
they were mine the whole time. Touching
is believing there is nothing
like holding something
nothing like waiting for something
in a box. It's a mystery
like Christmas like a cat
it could be anything
and I'll open it asking
alive or dead or alive or dead.
I start to wonder how much space
it takes to pack my life away
how much can the world contain
how long can I sleep
in a suitcase when will this place
be my place. I can know where I am
with unknown momentum
or how fast I'm going who knows
where. Like a small child
on a car ride I want to be there.
I go forward blind I am along
for the ride I will let you know
if there is ever nowhere left
to go and we can carry
my boxes up the stairs and there
will be Christmas wherever
we are we will take
things out of boxes and put them back
in their places and even the cat
will be okay. But until that day
I feel the galaxy twirling
arms open like a ballerina burning
all the stars knowing where they are
while I wander under their light
wonder which one to follow on.