Draft 10

She stands in a lemon grove, Juniper berries for teeth. Reaching for the tops of the trees, she suddenly finds herself towering over them. Looking down, she sees that in her haste to grow, she has destroyed all the fruit.

She tries to walk carefully, but her new size is burdensome. Awkwardly, she steps into a puddle, turning it into a river. She is ashamed that she will never know in which direction it flows.
She tries to turn away from it, and walk upstream but the current is persistent; "You're not done creating ruin" it laughs at her, nipping at her ankles.

She realizes her eyes have been shut the entire time. Seeking relief, she opens them only to find that someone has stolen all seven precious stones from inside her body. curious as to who would despise her this much she grows taller until she hits her head on something, it is the reflection of her self.

A poem I borrowed from my son

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uncovering a boring bird

I look out the window in
my mother's house and
see a brown bird with
a red head and proud red
breast

Smaller than a Robin
indeed, not a Robin

If I were my mother
(which I am, and I am not)
I would investigate

binoculars, dog-eared bird book
kept under the kitchen counter

I would check-mark
the picture of the bird,
satisfied with seeing it again

I am not
(and I am) my mother,
so instead I pick up a pen
and  book,
smaller than I prefer, to write in

I am interrupted
(and  again) and
the poem looses steam

I resist the urge to change this and
instead I stare at the bird

Think about catching it and
kissing it's red breast,
red head

wondering
how many other women
have done the same.

W W M O D

when people ask, which they never do,
The trick is to ask your self
W W M O D
(what would mary oliver do)

and then i wonder, how do i
go on a forest walk in my mind and
notice the smallest greenest snake and
let it profoundly touch me
?

I wonder how do i workshop words like
"blustering" and 'tremble" and "soft animal of your body" and
move it through me by moving it through
this small green snake by moving it into words
by moving you which moves me to be moved by
the smallest green snake

and a college poetry teacher would say to me,
which they never did,
there is already a M O
(mary oliver)
but there has never been a Y O U
before, and so, write what moves YOU

and that may not be the soft animal body
of someone or a garden snake but
it turns out, I just want to write about
the woman who wrote about those things,
which moves me

I FORGOT

I forgot what it feels like to dance
in tight jeans
in front of a mirror and
what it feels like to drink gin from a
plastic cup
room temperature
extra lime
.
I forgot, too, my next day rituals.
do I take an aspirin right away?
Is it better to keep sleeping
is it better to get up
turns out I have a slow
rise and fall like a slumbering breath turns out
i need kimchi four times
in the day
minimum
.
Mostly I did not
forget, in fact i remembered,
why feeling all oil slick on January first
is the same thing as starting off
Your New Year
with an apology stuck in your throat
.