Monthly Archives: April 2016

Post-script

blue-1326154_640

I want to be blunter, sharper,
hotter. To provoke,
to burn, to sear your
insides with words.

I want to stop
bargaining, with
God, the archangels,
and the universe (I want
to know where
to put my faith
and rest there, as if
I were already
in heaven).

I want to stop
offering to be better,
kinder, and more loving
to my body, in return
for a benign
biopsy result, as if
rewards only come
to those who live
the worthiest of lives.

I want to stop
trying to trace a line
from A to B,
mark out a trail and
follow the breadcrumbs
as if finding an X
will lead to the gold-
en cure or somehow,
at least,
give reason to the
reasonless, the random and
the inexplicable.

Like, maybe, I haven’t
eaten enough green and diverse
fruits and vegetables, or done
enough cardio exercise that
really got my heart rate up,
or maybe I spent too many years
smoking menthol cigarettes
and losing my mind
in alcohol infused binges,
or is it because
I stressed too much,
worked too hard,
and drank in pain
like I was swallowing
water. Or maybe I just
waited too long to
have my babies,
and spent too long
holding anger, instead,
so finally it found a spot
to set up permanent home,
in my breast. Or maybe,
I kept too many ‘bad’ secrets
that weren’t mine
to keep, or maybe
I just never
loved myself enough.

Or maybe, it’s like
my nine year old son,
the oldest, and sweetest,
poet I know,
just said,
‘why do people
have to die, it’s so unfair
and so easy, you could
get hit by a car
or a bus, or a
missile.’

(Post-script: it was benign)

Lost and Found

lostandfound

The light turns,
I gently press my
foot to the metal
and pull away on
automatic pilot.
Moments pass as if
I’m in one
of those movies where
time has paused, and
I am the only one
continuing on
against a silent backdrop
of animated stillness.
I am abruptly returned
to the intersection
of my body’s
beating heart,
to time and space
colliding in the rush hour
of my mind. Relief
ensues, I slip into
the forward flow, where
my mind can return
to dissociating
from my body,
to making mess
and making mud
and making room
for endless mazes
with no way out
for zig-zag crossings
that miss the point,
for winding roads in
the dead of night,
where getting lost
and being found
face each other on
silent grass verges,
vying to become
the next
place of rest.

Revolution

Girls can do anything,
they said,
on A4 posters slung
around old
’80s classrooms
seducing our eager bodies
into believing
we were invincible.

You can have it all
they said
with their ’80s shoulder pads
broadening their
edges,
slimming their bottom
lines, making out
like those who
ruled the world.

Can you come
to camp, they said,
on this school trip, what’s
for dinner, did you sign
my form, make my lunch,
find my shoes, love
me unconditionally?

Did you answer
those emails, pay
those bills, mark
those assignments, work
your 40 plus hours, but don’t
switch off your email,
ever,
they said.

How come, they say,
you’re so busy
out of breath
tired
grumpy
exhausted
unhappy
crying in the bathtub
beyond
the edge of reason?

Why don’t you just
get more sleep
take a day off
start a fitness regime
drink green smoothies
do more yoga
work less, do less, stress less,
they say,

as if they somehow knew,
but didn’t really
know at all, that the
not so secret answer
to breaking
that grim and gritty grasp
of capitalism,
lay in and around
the collective
curves and contours,
of that fierce and aching
body
of all the world’s
women.

#diveintopoetry  with jenaschwartz.com