Instead of poems on my phone
these days I list daily
expenses: gas, groceries, electric,
so much more tidy than counting
syllables and tracking
my daily emotional balance.

Remember when oyster
mushrooms were a staple
on the grocery budget?
Then after that it was shiitakes.
We cooked them almost
weekly, their sinewy stems like meat.

They look
familiar and fresh
in their shiny packages today
under the produce department lights,
and the kale glistening
in the shopping mist. I toss
them in the cart and wheel on
calculating them into the budget.

Our words,
like grocery lists and budgets,
are functional these days –
communication kept to the basics.
“What are you cooking?”
“Kale and mushrooms”
“Which store did you find the shiitakes at? They remind me of the ones we used to find with stems.”
“Did you finish all the veggies?”
“I didn’t know you wanted any more.”
“It’s ok, it’s fine.”

But, on the stove I find
more mushrooms in the bowl.
All that remains of the kale are the
tiny crispy pieces.
I eat them from the pan – the tastiest of tidbits
and I ponder what it means to
seek out and savor
the seemingly insignificant bits that remain
in an empty cast iron pan.

sun wants to come out
peridot leaves releasing
spring’s cold rain and grey

A PoetRy I L
S P A C E S
in(words to fill)between
(SmIl e) n c e

Oh, thank you Glo/NaPoWriMo for this month and the opportunity to share words to fill the spaces in between! Thank you for edifying comments and solidarity from fellow participants who shared in this journey. I leave April with a smile and a tear – and a grateful heart!

Tattered heart
Grey sweatshirt
Not my vibrant self
Push past
Ignore
The clutter on the shelf
Playlist
Women voices
Beckon me to go
Gravel grinding
Underfoot
Reaching with each toe
Avoid
Noisy traffic
Focus on the sky
Footsteps
In rhythm
Ground and edify
Seek out
Quiet corner
Familiar fallen tree
Breathe out
Closed eyes
Rediscover me

When I lay quiet still at night in bed,
And thinking of the things that filled my day,
I’m sometimes sad because I think instead
Of all the games that I forgot to play:
Then down my nose there runs a little tear
For precious playthings hidden in the night,
My favorite soft and fluffy teddy bear
I wish that I could hug and snuggle tight:
Then missing all the missed things in the dark
My sadness circles heavy in my head
But when a little moan escapes my heart
You come to me and sit beside my bed.
Now with your gentle hand upon my cheek
Your love fills every corner of my sleep.

Glo/NaPoWriMo Day 27 prompt has offered the challenge to write a “remix” of a Shakespearean sonnet. Here is my remix of Sonnet 30 written from the perspective of a child. I tried to use simple language so that it might also be easily read as a children’s bedtime story.

We are like the turtle you rescued from the road
Only to be placed in a small tank
With not enough water
And he’s not eating

I keep telling you he needs to go free
But the small child protests
So he’s still in that tank
With not enough water
And he’s not eating

I dreamt I was setting him free
But found myself in my childhood house
And my father returned from the store
With grapes and mixed greens
Which the turtle crisply munched
Then he rested his head contently
And I petted him like a puppy
I awoke and there he is
Much smaller than in my dream
Still in that tank
With not enough water
And he hasn’t eaten

Do I set him free?
Do I go to the store and buy grapes and mixed greens?
It was so good to talk to my dad last night
When he asked, How’s the family? I said, We’re fine
But here we are
Still in this small tank
With not enough water
Hungering for something more

It will come with its rustling green
And zinging cicadas
Its sound of tires on gravel through open windows
It will come with its late day glow
As light from the drooping sun
refracts through a zillion minuscule droplets
In the afternoon haze
Will it not come?
It will come with the creak of beach chairs
Opening up
Its sparkling specs of sand stuck between toes
It will come with waves of crashing on my shore
But what will its tide bring in?
It will come with the smell of ozone
Rising from raindrops reaching hot blacktop
Like tears reaching scorching tongues
It will come with its rich irriguous earth
That dries into parched hands
Is it not now hiding in spring’s soil?
I’m also busy about sowing seeds
Anticipating its arrival
Do you think I’m not?
I’m planting
Resilience
Independence
Determination
I plan to water them diligently