This poem, for day 7 of NaPoWriMo, is a direct response to Rachel McKibbens’ Twitter post, here:

“What do you deserve? Name it. All of it. What are you ready to let go of? Name that too. Then name the most gentle gift for yourself. Name the brightest song your body’s ever held. Summon joy like you would a child; call it home. It wanders, yes. But it’s still yours.”

Why?
When I consider naming what I deserve
Does my diaphragm draw up
Pushing tears
Into the corners of my eyes.
I deserve a more joyful visceral response for my deepest longing

I keep thinking
I deserve a normal life
Where I pay my bills on time and drive a reliable car
But maybe what I actually deserve is the the kind of joyful-mess
That doesn’t cause me to squander my prayers
On such normalities

I let go of
Simultaneously thinking I am
Too small and incapable
And
Too big and important
To fail

I give myself
The gift of vulnerability
Unashamed
Arms stretched wide
Head back
The freedom to release my muscles
To the movements my soul has silently rehearsed
All these decades

I’m still awaiting
That brightest song
Its motifs whispered in morning birdsong
Children’s laughter
And small silent awakenings
I keep gathering up those notes

That song is brighter
It requires ears not made of flesh
And my longing to hear it
In itself brings joy
When I find that song
I will be home

---

So worth watching is the video of Rachel McKibbens also highlighted today on napowrimo.net, particularly if you or a loved one has experienced mental illness. It deserves sharing so here it is:

If wishes were 737s
They wouldn’t fall from the sky

If wishes were money
We’d buy tickets and fly

If wishes were time
At each sunset we’d smile

If wishes were distance
We’d laugh at each mile

If wishes were soil
We’d no longer roam

If wishes were bones
We’d call that place home

Children learn to smile from their parents
But I miss seeing your shining face
Are you on fire from the years?

Are you intentionally dimming that light,
Or has some small darkness swallowed it up?
Children learn to smile from their parents

I remember when you fancied yourself a lion
While running free in the back yard
Are you on fire from the years?

You used to take the long cut
And escape all night in books
Children learn to smile from their parents

I wonder if I’ve lost you
You seem a stranger now
Are you on fire from the years?

Once you were so tiny in my young arms
Yet so mighty in my heart still
Children learn to smile from their parents
But are you just on fire from the years?

---

NaPoWriMo day 5
“Children learn to smile from their parents” ~Shinichi Suzuki
“Are you on fire from the years? What would you give for your kid fears?” ~The Indigo Girls

I vigorously sweep away the dust
You wash up all the dishes from last night
The birthday candle wishes are blown out
Known only in the mind of the small child

What can this small one wish for anyway?
Can ponies and balloons bring back what’s lost?
I try to tell you all that’s on my mind
You tell me all the things I should have done

I finish wiping down the counter top
You empty out the basin in the sink
And tap the drain catch gunk into the trash
I try to throw the blame right back at you

You huff away and slam both of the doors
I make a silent wish on her behalf

There are cracks on the sidewalk in Pietermaritzburg
In the spot where we met.
I type the street name into Google Earth.
Magically zooming out, crossing the ocean
And focusing in, I can’t see the cracks
Where fragments of gravel from our soles once fell.
I know they’re still there.

There’s a fallen tree in Honesdale, PA
Where we sat together the day before we married
And witnessed all that was variegated and green and good
on the road before us.
I imagine Its woody fibers
Are now one with the soil.
I know it’s still there.

There’s a Ford 150 van with brown leather seats
Where we buckled car seats and dialed the radio daily,
And occasionally adventured into wild places
with our camping gear loaded in the back.
It’s likely rusting
Standing in some junkyard.
I know it’s still there.

There’s a bike path by the Connecticut River
Where you held the back of bike seats, running alongside as brown legs vigorously peddled,
Letting go at just the right moment,
And stopping only to explore some hidden gem of the natural world.
Those brown legs have grown tall,
Venturing out into the world.
That path is still there.

There’s a patch of earth we’ve cultivated
Tilling, planting, watering, weeding
And harvesting God’s grace in all colors, shapes and sizes
I’m not sure why we keep arguing about who has toiled more through the years.
It’s still right there in our backyard
Where fragments from our souls have fallen.
It will be here still, after we leave.

Take a quick breath as you push away stinging tendrils of mental ruminations

Reach for the floor with your dangling leg

Tiptoe downstairs

The familiar sound of the refrigerator door will comfort you

Fill a glass with water and tiptoe back upstairs

Set it carefully on the bedside table

Bury yourself in blankets leaning your body up on your elbow

No higher than 45 degrees

Reach for the glass and

Drink in

Hope

For a better day tomorrow

Set the glass down again, this time not as carefully

Sink down into the blankets

Take a quick breath and slowly exhale thoughts

of all that remains broken

The last day of March
Rain turns to crisp setting sun
I await sunrise