I think it’s beautiful how poetry is around us everyday, in our minds, in our hearts and most definitely nestled in the unspoken corners of our souls. I truly believe that each of has words teaming from every space of ourselves, stories etched into the makings of our individuality. Previously, I attempted to start a weekly compilation of my words and recommendations of others words who inspire me to inform others of my love and admiration for poetry and prose. Now, I am in a stable and incredibly vulnerable time in my life where I feel that words have healed me, empowered me and driven me to a point that this endeavor may do the same for you, the readers. The beautiful thing about poetry is that it finds you when you need it. Poetry can be whatever you want it to be, a page to listen to the complex inner workings of your mind, or simply a hand to hold when you feel alone.
The first step to knowing ourselves, I believe, is allowing ourselves to hear our thoughts. Validating your emotions can be a daunting task, but the starting point for validation is recognition. I challenge you this week, to be honest and raw with yourself at least for a little while each day. Visit the parts of your subconscious that you often suppress or silence in an act of disabling your own feelings. If you want, try writing them down—I promise you, you will be taken aback by what a pen to paper can create. The theme for this week’s poem is the human experience, the true reality of the life we live. I wrote this poem sitting under a tree, tearing up as the wind kept rustling the pages I was furiously scribbling on. After looking back at it, I realized I had encompassed tragedies and their outcomes to depict a part of me I had never touched on before. I hope you enjoy this and allow yourself to draw connections in your own life.
Photo courtesy of Jessica Tiede © 2018
My Poem of the Week For You
Salmon Berry, Snow Cloud
I used to
Pick berries in the woods
On cloudy days,
Holding my grandmothers hand under thorns and green
My mother always trembled
At this idea.
In my tenderness, I couldn’t quite see
That laced the world around me.
A new kind,
At your neighbor’s funeral
Because her husband was already seeking a new wife
And the naivety silenced the crowd
Before the coffin could
In your legs
And crawls, seeps, slithers
Into the warmed blankets of your already burdened soul
Your first love knows this kind.
Sitting in the second row of
Your step-brother’s funeral
Watching the only man who ever embodied the word
Weep unto your all to exposed shoulders
To a god
You don’t believe in
That your hand in your mother’s hand
Piece back together
This heavy and desperate breaking.
Sympathizing with the bear on the local news
After it has been
For trespassing in the suburbs
A painful kind of humanity
Plagues a withered
Root of a heart
Trying to love a broken cellist
When classical music
Curdles your blood
Leaving the cellist
With black coffee
Are already too broken
Grandmother and I don’t pick berries
I am far too afraid
Writing Location Recommendation
I ask you to find solace and understanding in nature this week. Be alone, in a spot where you feel comfortable and a place that recognizable, preferably a spot that holds memories for you in your life. Try to root yourself in this place and like nature, be honest and pure in the most wholesome way you know how. Tackle heavy thoughts like the ones above—you are never wrong to speak your truths.
If you liked this……
Try Michael Faudet’s work, Dirty Pretty Things, he tackles heavy narratives with such a gentle poetic approach. One of my personal faves!
Until next week!