breathing into growth (poetry thursday)

Yesterday was my grandmother's birthday. She would have been 84 or maybe it's 85 now. Her grandmother lived to be 102 so I was hoping for more time...

When Dana and I were sitting in a Starbucks in Seattle this weekend, I was telling her that I can't seem to write many poems about anything other than my grandmother. I guess in her death she has become my muse. I will take a nod from Sharon Olds though and will just keep going with it. Writing the words as they come.

As I mentioned here, I am trying to work with shorter poems. To strip it all away to get to the guts of what I want to say. Yesterday, as the sun peeked through the rainy clouds, I found my way to this poem...

On this day
when the sun slips through the gray
and I hear the tulips push upward,
I know this:
Though I ache to lay my hand in yours
and walk around your yard
listening
as you name each stretching green shoot,
you are happier dancing in the wind
whispering
grow, grow

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If you haven't already, please visit Poetry Thursday and read this week's columns (and the particpants' Poetry Thursday posts too). Marilyn's words yesterday had me standing up in my little room and cheering out loud! I love poetry.

a glimpse into my trip {poetry thursday}

back from sedona, trying to take it all in as i catch up on work and other things. in writing this poem this morning, i wanted to capture some moments spent with my mother during our trip. it really is just a draft of a poem, i need to peel back a bit more of it, fewer words i think (and i need to start a new knitting project to make sure i have the rhythm that i want in this). but it is a glimpse into some of our time together.

updated to add: this poem is actually about my mother teaching me to knit during our trip to sedona. because so many people have read my words about my grandmother in the past, i know that it would seem that i am talking about her here. the person "talking" in this poem is actually my mother talking about her grandmother (who was my grandmother's mother-in-law; they never really seemed to like one another, to put it mildly, yet they were so alike. and my relationship with my grandmother parallels my mother's relationship with her grandmother in many ways).

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knit two, purl two

Curled up next to her I watch
patiently.
Her grandmother taught her this rhythm
her hands remember this rhythm
slide through
wrap
catch it
loop moves over
don’t pull too tight
do you see?
I nod
knit two, purl two
knit two, purl two

She hands me the yarn, the needles,
my grandmother said
my signature was to make
at least one mistake.
I hold the needles,
brown yarn through my fingers,
slide through
wrap
I thought that was kind in a way.

We sit in the quiet,
knit two, purl two
knit two, purl two
row after row
I remember when she unraveled
half a blanket,
“you have to get the first row”
she said, “or you ruin it all.”
Slide through
wrap
catch it
loop moves over
don’t pull too tight
breathe
my rhythm.

Not many people liked her,
my grandmother,
but we had something, an understanding.
I think it was because
I was patient with her.
I nod,
knit two, purl two
knit two, purl two
I know.

Days later,
my husband wards off the cold
with the knowledge, the mistakes, the rhythm
of the women who came before me
warmly wrapped around his neck.

happy first birthday poetry thursday (and an invitation)

Please join me in a little one-year birthday celebration for Poetry Thursday!

Settle in with your favorite beverage and a little snack, get comfortable, and enjoy some poetry…

But first, if you want to, share the name of the last poem that spoke to you, to the guts of who you are. You can even add a link if you have one. I would love to know what is inspiring you in the world of poetry.

Then, go on over to Poetry Thursday to explore and see what all the participants shared this week.

why I love poetry…in 153 words or less by me {poetry thursday}

Whittling the long list down, as I have been trying to shape my own poems lately, I found this list…

I love poetry because:
it envelopes me in language
it frees me from fear
it gives me the space to grieve
it cracks me open
it swirls thoughts together into truth
it doesn’t put up with bullshit
it can be a wicked dance of memory and fiction
it assaults the senses
it breathes

(visit poetry thursday to read more responses to this assignment and other good things)

inspiration in a line {poetry thursday}

This week’s prompt is a fun one. All the different lines people shared in the comments on this week’s (completely and totally optional) idea post over at Poetry Thursday inspired me quite a bit. In a way, I wish they would have each posted a blog post about why they chose that line of their own poetry.

I borrowed a line from Megan (you can read her original poem here). I decided to wait to read her poem until I was ready to share mine. And I was delighted in the serendipity of both of us finding inspiration in fruit. Megan, thank you for sharing this line...I appreciate the places it took me with this poem.

I am still trying to write shorter poems with few adjectives/adverbs…though this one was a bit longer than the other ones I have been playing with lately. It is a draft, but I will share it all the same.

portraits

leaning against the counter,
cup of tea in hand,
looking at the apples
resting in a clean white bowl:

when I am down the hall or
at the store or
when my back is turned
as I stand at the stove,
do my grandmother,
her mother,
and her mother’s mother
talk to one another,
share secrets, and
peek in on me
as though their portraits exist
in Rowling’s world?

last week,
after I poured the slices
of fuji, jonagold, and granny smith
and watched them simmer,
did my grandmother pause their conversation and say,
“she is adding the spices now”
and then appear over my shoulder
as I tossed in the sugar,
sprinkled in nutmeg, and then
tapped the jar of cinnamon against the side of the pan,
so that I could hear her whisper,
“don’t you think that’s a bit too much?”