Food for Flesh and Soul

not-quite Journaling, 76 

The blossoming is done
for you, they told her...
spring is gone;
summer went cold;
autumn will fall
at winter’s feet. 

But she ignored them--
wild nature is always
too wild to quit blooming 

on anyone’s command.

 

10/20/2024: I think “a terrible beauty” should be added to the definition of Climate Change. I can’t believe how many things are still blooming this late in the season. According to the forecast, it’s supposed to be 80 °F in New York City on Halloween. Makes me want to cook my traditional All Hallows’ Eve pumpkin chili outside, on a fire pit… The thought of a big cauldron bubbling over flames and coals, woodsmoke and spices and storytelling scenting the air, takes me back to the best years of my childhood *happy sigh*. 

 

If life skins off de-
light, I shall wear
midnight as a suit. 

11/10/2024: This poem bit was my response, when asked to illustrate my feelings on the election results (and what said results might mean for a chronically ill, veteran, immigrant, woman of Afro-Caribbean descent). After reading the poem, someone said they “admired and envied [my] grace and lack of pain”. At first, I thought the person was being sarcastic. When I realized they were serious, my brain and I spent some long seconds stunned by the idea of anyone being so blind… Then, I proceeded to completely lose it—loudly, descriptively, and at length: 

I shouted something (probably slightly unintelligible) about metaphors. Then I Magaly-explained that being skinned alive would involve pain, that choosing to stand up when soles and knees and palms are raw from being flayed would be pure agony, that wearing anything on freshly exposed muscles and bones would be torture, that doing any of these things would require taking sadness, rage, disappointment, will, and the almost-corpse of hope… and reshaping all that terrible energy into armor to keep my heart (and other people’s skulls) from being crushed under my pain.  

I am angry. I am sad. I am in pain. And I am not feeling particularly graceful at the moment. But “this too shall pass”. 

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #152: Holding Your Breath)

Heat

Pain eases
its grip on my spine,
when I feel
you spilling your heat
on my throbbing flesh.

If your mind jumped head first into the gutter, after reading my tanka, then your sense of humor and mine would get along just fine. You see, I did an indecent amount of snickering and giggling and chuckling while I wrote this poem bit. Still, it was inspired by a more literal kind of heat: my heat pad.

At first, when my sweetest and dearest Rommy asked us to “write about our favorite modern convenience or invention”, I thought about my smartphone. Then I felt the soothing warmth of my heat pad relaxing my back muscles, while I wrote, keeping my glute and thigh and calf and foot and toes from total sciatic agony, and I realized that there was no competition: my electric heat pad is my favorite modern convenience. Nothing against hot water bottles--I have one of those, too--but not having to refill your pain soother with hot water over and over and over… is pure magic.

So, what’s your favorite modern convenience or invention? And what makes it so?

borrowed from the Alpha School of Massage
(Not exactly a heat pad, I know. But I love my electric heat pad
in the same way I delight in heat therapy after a deep tissue massage.
Hm… delicious!)

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #113: Modern Marvel)

Must Taste the Thorns

not-quite Journaling, 58

8/8/2023: I ran outside today. All right, I ran/walked. My muscles are weak and my endurance is crap, but I ran on dirt for the first time in… forever. And it was glorious. I kept laughing--rather loudly--and people kept giving me funny looks, which made me laugh louder. I ran/walked for 24 minutes ([run 1 min, walk 2 min] x 8); not very long, I know, but a good beginning. The goal is to get back to running 30 minutes, 3 times a week, by the end of October.

“Baobab: Tree of Life” by Tijay Mohammed. The tree that inspired the sculpture is a symbol of life,
so… starting my run/walk there felt just right.

 

Delightful
from every angle,
my passion
flowers can enchant
in sunlight and rain.

8/15/2023: My passiflora has finally bloomed. I got to enjoy her striking curls for about 5 minutes, before rain showered them closed. Now she’s impersonating a fairy skirt--yep, she’s gifted like that.

 

8/22/2023: A 19-year-old (who might or might not be related to me) told me that “a healthy relationship isn’t supposed to be hard”. I didn’t think laughing hysterically would be constructive, so I didn’t laugh. I felt like yelling in their face, “Are you 5?” wouldn’t help either, so sent them this poem.

 

I dreamed of a life without pain,
and reality laughed.

8/26/2023: Well, maybe I haven’t truly had this dream in a while. Not that I can remember. But I still enjoyed stitching the thought. 😁

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Wrings #91: Muscle Memory.

Hoping for Pain-less

not-quite Journaling, 25

on top of the world,
waiting for the next lifequake—
ROAR at the ready

12/9/2021: When one has been chronically ill for what seems like forever, it’s hard not to be hypervigilant about one’s health. Not so paranoid that one doesn’t enjoy life, but watchful enough to avoid getting kicked in the teeth by all the random new f*ck yous the chronic illness monster chooses to throw one’s way. The monster’s latest kick got me in the liver and the gallbladder. Or, at least, that’s what we’re hoping. Because if it also got me in the duodenum (more tests shall tell), then my crohnie behind will probably be in real trouble. End of Venting (for now).  

 

Pain is hungry,
feed it wild art.

12/13/2021: Pain is a demanding, hungry (and very much unwanted) guest. If we don’t feed its petulance, it just gets louder and more annoying. I feed my pain stories and poems, gardening and cooking, gossipy conversations with friends. Today, I’m going to feed it some house cleaning.

* The bit at the bottom, with the wee flowers and breast cancer ribbon, is a cutting from a painting, by Victoria Ramdass, in CONQUER: the patient voice).

 

12/15/2021: Nature’s feeling… off; her moods are wild (tornadoes in Kentucky, mudslides in California, pink periwinkles blooming around a New York City hospital courtyard). I want to delight in December’s spring blooms, but the timing is troubling; nature’s feeling… off.

 

2021:
I wish to call you a blur,
but flesh-screams aren’t quick

the background is from a photo by Camila Quintero Franco, on Unsplash

12/16/2021: When asked to describe 2021 in just one word, a friend of mine said, “blur”; then she asked me, “Don’t you think so?” After considering the question for a wee bit, I shook my head. Because for me, the one word that describes 2021 is pain: feeling pain, managing pain, eating foods that decrease pain, finding useful things to do with pain… Yep, the pain’s the word. I am so hoping that 2022 will tag a ‘less’ at the end of my pain.

 
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #7: Dear 2021…

Smiling at Terrible (with Teeth)

not-quite Journaling, 23

Slaughter prejudice
like a lady.

10/9/2021: I have been organizing my old blackout poems (again). And since this one made me cackle (while showing an outrageous amount of teeth), I thought I should share it with you. Also, it’s a page out of Pride Prejudice and Zombies, which is October perfect.

 

Nature is therapy.

10/17/2021: Yep, therapy one can plant, love, watch bloom and fruit, and even eat.

 

Imagination
can blossom
light and darkness
out of terrifying pain
embraced.

10/29/2021: I believe this all the way to my achy bones. You?

 

When terrible found me,
I smiled… with teeth.

11/2/2021: I created this blackout in the autumn of 2018… Now I can’t stop snickering at the fact that I did not notice the “terribly” instead of “terrible” grammatical horror. Oh well, the heart of it remains true: when life gets tough, I bare my teeth in a defiant grin and live forward. I seem to do the same when I notice a typo after 3 years. 😁

 

When pain rips you apart,
gather all the pieces…
and craft yourself
whole.

11/9/2021: I think that while we are doing the gathering and the crafting and the wholing… we should keep in mind that our new whole might look nothing like the whole we used to be. And that can be a very good thing (especially for those of us who always wanted to do something drastic with our hair but never did because it would’ve broken our father’s heart and our father is too adorable to hurt).

 

11/20/2021: this elfchen is the last of 3 pieces I created for a chronic illness art therapy class. It answers the question, “Why write about pain while you are hurting?” I don’t know why others might choose to use writing (and reading too) as therapy, but for me writing is an upcycling of pain: words can turn agony’s screams into song.

 

When I remember comfortable,
I sigh.

11/24/2021: It’s true. When I recall those dreamy years when my flesh and bones and I could stand, sit, and lie down without feeling pain, I sigh with longing and nostalgia. Sigh…

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #3: Pain in Ink.