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)

Screaming Doesn’t Help (much)

not-quite Journaling, 73

Screaming doesn’t seem to help much,
so I shall harvest myself a soothing.

9/22/2024: I’m not dead. I figured I should put that out there right away. I haven’t been feeling awesome--physically or emotionally--but I’m getting better. I lost several friends, to a preventable accident, in the last few weeks. The grief hasn’t been easy on my flesh or bones or spirit. I needed a break… I’ve spent a lot of time crying (all right, screaming rage-filled tears), reading old favorites, watching my plants grow, letting my Piano Man comfort me, smiling at messages from many of you (thank you!), and straight out roaring with laughter at increasingly outrageous memes from Rommy (humor--particularly dark humor--is one of my favorite medicines, and mi querida amiga knows that).

Today, I chose to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox by doing some harvesting and delighting in the gifts my wee garden has produced this season. I pulled the sweet potatoes out of the soil with my bare hands--the dirt felt warm and alive, and I bet the potatoes will taste just as life-giving. The tomatoes have been sweet, juicy, and plentiful. The passion fruit needs more time (we can relate, can’t we?).

I’ll spend the next few days catching up. I hope life is being good to you. I hope the world isn’t causing you much pain. I hope society’s current turmoil isn’t clobbering your nerves. I hope you are as well as is humanly possible. I hope… for us all.

 

on days marred with loss,
I’ll let autumn rain cleanse pain
of flesh and spirit

 – for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #146: Substitutions)

Scenting Memories

not-quite Journaling, 71

I will find me again & again & again & again & again & again & again & again & again & again & again & again & again...

6/11/2024: My seemingly interminable pain flare-up is finally waning. I’ve never had one last this long… Things aren’t great yet, but I’m able to walk 1.5 miles without feeling like my back, hip, and shoulder will explode. I’m grateful to be getting better, but the setback is always frustrating. I must spend the next few weeks helping my body recover. My flesh and bones feel tender and weak, but I’ll reclaim my strength. I always do. I always will.

 

When
every city
wails and wails,
my urban garden chants
calm.

6/14/2024: The first gloriosa daisy of the season came out to play, adding pre-summery brightness to the (HUGE) bit of green lush that is my balcony garden. The passionflowers, tomatoes, sunflowers, and dandelions are budding. The bees and butterflies and I are terribly pleased. 🪴🏵️🐝🦋🥰

 

summer is passion
flowers blooming purple curls,
scenting memories

6/21/2024: My Passiflora celebrated the arrival of Summer with a (blooming) BANG.

 

On dark days,
summer rains caress
bloom and thorn,
loving softly...
adoring sharply...
as you do me
and I you

on bright days too.

My Piano Man and I celebrated another anniversary (6/28/2024). We ate the same meal we ate on our handfasting day (minus champagne); we watched movies; we held each other extra-long; we did other things *cough*. It was perfect. Life hasn’t been easy for us, on the medical front these last few years, but we couldn’t ask for better on the loving front. The universe isn’t fair when it comes to balance, but it has been great to us (and our love). 

 – for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #133: Summer Words)