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Down, Pour

I imagine the clouds are a tsunami calculate which direction the wave might hit how long it would take to die I write wedding vows for my Uber driver tell my lover to have a good evening The nurse asks me to relax my arm before the stick she asks, again: let your arm hang like a noodle It is! I tell her Relax! she says my jaw tightens there is nowhere for the pain to go so it spreads thin, hardens through my chest releases into my gut contracts into a rhythm that floods every vessel He tells me good morning, asks how I slept okay , I say, how about you? I wait for his response like a farmer praying for rain fruit on the vine Eh , he says, you? Round and round we go  waiting for the rain or permission  to give it up to the sun

I categorize favorite posts on Instagram into labeled folders in case I want to visit them later

In the name of relevance, I text you first. Or is it hope, love. I already know what it is. I have the need to remind others of my existence, or I may fade into oblivion. My mother and I over-bake things. We are unable to let go. We hold until it sours. Did her mother keep too? My daughter takes photos of everything. She never wants to forget. I worry about being forgotten, not being met where I am. Where I am is apart from you. I wait for the skillet to warm before adding the pancake batter. I walk away to tend to the dishes. The blueberries burn. 

Question Air, poem by Emily Lisker

https://theurbanmermaid.blogspot.com/2024/09/question-air.html?m=1 This poem is written by my dear friend, Emily Lisker. 

Lisa Marie Lovett

“I hope this week stirs something deep within you. May the answers you couldn’t see before now rise to the surface like whispers of truth breaking through the fog of uncertainty, and may you find the courage and clarity to bring them to life, to nurture them with intention and let them guide your path forward. I hope your heart finds balance, not by the weight of who you’ve been or the stories that you’ve carried but by the truth of who you are becoming, the truth that anchors you in the present and propels you towards the future. I wish you strength, both in body and spirit and the resilience to weather the storms you may face. May you stand firm in your values, even when life pulls you in many directions. I wish you grace to remain present in the here and the now, even when the pull to drift away feels so very strong. I hope you are reminded of your inner strength, of the power within you that grows with every challenge you face. May you find peace knowing that the journey ahead is u...

Dragonflies and Discipline

I just learned that dragonflies lay their eggs in bodies of water. The larvae swim out of the lakes, ponds, streams where their eggs were laid and climb up a nearby tree trunk or limb where they latch on to unhatch into fully grown dragonflies. Somehow they know exactly what they need to do to survive, and they do it. They don’t wonder if it’s the right time to exit the water, if they will be eaten, if the weather will be right. It just happens. Maybe I need to let things happen and stop overthinking them to death. Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe letting things happen is what has brought me here. Maybe more discipline, more thought is required. Maybe my brain will explode. Maybe all we can do is just keep going. 

The Race

I feel like I’m running a race toward the finish line but I get to the end and there is no finish line there is a teacup and a block of cheese and a screwdriver and suddenly my throat is filled with silt and I am blinded by gusts of confetti and all I hear is what were you thinking you knew better so I fall to my knees and search for the last time I was loved, truly loved and my mind races flips through files until it reaches the last one which contains only one page with one word written on it in black Sharpie: begin

Dawn Revisited by Rita Dove

Imagine you wake up with a second chance: The blue jay hawks his pretty wares and the oak still stands, spreading glorious shade. If you don’t look back, the future never happens.  How good to rise in sunlight, in the prodigal smell of biscuits— eggs and sausage on the grill.  The whole sky is yours to write on, blown open  to a blank page. Come on, shake a leg! You’ll never know who’s down there, frying those eggs, if you don’t get up and see.