the chickens open their beaks
in a silent squawk
feathered bodies pant
melt and puddle
over wood shavings
the young girl pours water
into the tray in the cages corner
“Jessica needs more water”
“I’m so nervous”
“First place, master showman, I can’t believe it”
off in the corner
several family members
wait and melt in a hundred degrees
with love and pride dripping down their foreheads
and flies batting at their knees
in the silent
inky darkness
something surges
from the deep
predator
turned prey
when i was little
i had someone tell me
“don’t be so eager to grow up”
i’ve had others judge me
like growing up was a competition
that i would fail at
and while i feel old and young
than i ever did before
it doesn’t change
the sadness that overwhelms me
growing up is over with
being an adult
happens now
and i
don’t
want
it
even my favorite parts
of Summer
can’t will away the feeling
we’re all barreling
towards a cliff
with an obvious end
and just like that
my thoughts disappear
they’ve gone somewhere
no longer here
I’d pull them back
if I could
my brain a block of solid wood
there’s no squish here
all grain and seed
maybe I should read
or was there something that I need
One thought, then the next, they bleed
meeting roadblocks and potholes
of ADHD
This project is coming along!
This will be a collection of new material from the last few years exploring the ‘what’s been left behind’ from my college years, who I am now and the joys and struggles of being an adult. There are themes of feminism, mental health, self-doubt…and some silly poems about the weather, of course.
There will be more posts about this project later on in the next few months.
In case you missed it, my other poetry book, Walking in Cemeteries, can be found on Amazon here.
the wind sighs through the window
a gust of promises
smelling like a friend
our chocolate lab lifts his graying muzzle to it
soft ears blown back
he breathes deep
there’s no telling
what secrets
the wind whispers to him
maybe it says, come and play
our golden retriever crouches low
the sunlight catches his fur like liquid gold
he wiggles his butt again and then
they’re off!
I’m walking the path
kicking dandelions
they’ve gone to seed
just like the rest of us
you’re too loud
too abrupt
you finish your sentences
at the end of a question mark
maybe your words
don’t come off
as polite as they should be
you talk too much
maybe
I’m just so sick
of stuffing my personality
down in the dark
where no one can see it
and I’m tired
of being afraid
that I’ll say the wrong thing
I’ll upset someone
they won’t like me
like the stars
that never turn off in the day time
invisible but
always there
and maybe I don’t want to shine always
but I’m sick of turning my light off
so others can, too
I remember her wrinkles
the way her mouth drew up
just before a smile
the way she sang off tune
and loved a red convertible
and how one time she trapped a skunk
that was getting into her bird seed
and let him go
without getting sprayed
how we listened with amazement
and laughed
at the stubborn eighty-year-old woman
battling woodland creatures
and winning
how I always cry when we
sing her favorite song in church
God, I miss her
How Great Thou Art
how great was the woman who loved us
who was so amazing
that even a skunk knew not to spray her
A. J. Morse 