End of April 2023: Determination!

I bought Grocery List Poems by Rhiannon McGavin at the book fair this month and it made me so happy. Those poems did a lot to revitalize me and show me the joy of poetry and art again. Rhiannon is close to my age and I have been following her for many years, so it feels like I’ve grown up with her. Her poetic voice has always been inspirational to me and I felt so thrilled to be alive and reading poetry again. (Not to be dramatic).

"The whole way there
your heart would shiver like a box of matches
as you rushed through the concrete churn
of your city with the poodle mix
in conspiracy to strut down the street
whose name you never learned, knowing it
by feel alone..."

From "Crush" by Rhiannon McGavin

Now to be more introspective: I spend a lot of my days wishing I had it in me to do X, Y, or Z. (Be a poet or travel across Europe or be more assertive or finally bake snickerdoodles that aren’t gross). Sometimes I like that these thoughts keep me curious and hungry and wanting to do more. But most of the time, this thinking isn’t useful thinking. These thoughts make me feel dissatisfied with myself and make me lose sight of things that are more important. It’s good to yearn. Believe me; I love to yearn. But there is always a line.

I have been trying to take solace in the fact that there are a set number of tasks immediately ahead of me and it is currently within my power to do them. I have the wherewithal and the skills and the tenacity to do it. And that is all I need to ask of myself in this moment. Small and sturdy steps down a linear-ish path. No need to cause more carnage than necessary. Like in the game Undertale, one of the best games ever.

Have a good May. I generally love the month of May and it always passes so quickly. I hope you don’t let it pass you by. Here: a poem that I wrote in a fit of inspiration about a week ago. And also a song I have been enjoying.

Clear Vase

I am there as a child
hanging off the cliff of the table,
the eyes of vase flowers
turned toward me, my fingers 
curved to bites and the fork dents pockmark
the wood, my feet in socks
and my grocery list 
vocabulary. Ants in a line 
and their sable bodies. This year cracks
like an egg crack, needle diet,
crumb licks the table as the dog hunches
over a mackerel when he is not supposed to,
everything from outside
wanting in, the raven wilderness 
of the table, so tall and full and
no longer here.