Last Place Olympian

Sinking, sinking, sinking, crash

Where is that noble buoyancy

That dad told me all of us humans have when we’re swimming

Because it’s part of biology?

It’s cold down here

Icy and dark where I can’t

See a damn thing

And even though I’d like to

I can’t get past the amount of time I spent

Swimming, swimming, swimming

Learning all the strokes and paddles to

Get to where I am now.

Maybe resilience doesn’t come from

A natural, internal floating mechanism

But from telling yourself that

YES – swimming is fun! Swimming is easy!

I can swim through Jell-O if I tried.

And while I write in metaphor

The tragic irony of this seasonal sadness happens to

Lie in the fact that

I cannot swim at all.

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Last Place Olympian

Mortality

A pain somewhere between my ribs

Manifests

As I begin to realize that I am not alone

In mortality.

But the flesh dressing your

Beautiful, beautiful bones

Will one day also cease to grant your life its motion.

And I feel sickened —

Deep within, to contemplate the state of Earth

Without you on it.

Shallow breath tries to fill my lungs

As I imagine your soft skin in its clothes,

Out of its clothes,

Pressed against my body,

Being held and holding.

Your lips.

Oh, your lips! 

And I love your skeleton just as much as every other part

You claim as your own.

But bones alone will never be 

Enough for me.

What of us?

You, me — the totality of our flesh and bones,

All of our passion,

And every last kiss.

What then, my love?

And my greatest anxiety thus takes form —

Where will we be when neither exists?

Will I still remember?

Mortality

Carthage

When all of this is said and done

I’ll be glad to know I’m not the only one

who feels this way.

Lost, empty, my heart weighing a ton,

Nothing changing with each passing day.

 

In my mind, I have no doubt

That it is infinitely hard to be without

you in my life.

A different girl might take another route

But I’m not her, and I’ll pay my tithe.

 

To be in love or to be alone?

I call this sad solitude my home

because right now there’s no one else.

My heart has no capacity to roam

I cannot lie to you or myself.

 

I am chained to my love, lest we forget

The root of my heart’s paralysis is manifest

in your eyes, your gait, your charm, your smile,

Which cause me violent internal unrest

Seeking to know if this was all worthwhile. 

 

This sad lament will find no conclusion

And I won’t wallow in the delusion

that forgetting you will not take long.

No, not after my soul met yours in that fateful fusion

And my willing heart erupted in song. 

10/1/09

Note: I wrote this in the middle of a Medieval Women & Sexuality class, in which we were reading about unrequited love… which sort of held relevance at the time.

Carthage

Stronger

I am stronger than any Man,

because I am a Woman.

 

for every house He builds for himself,

I build relationships, networks, and models of love. 

 

for every college degree He earns,

I observe the universe from afar, and learn the deepest meanings.

 

for every bloody wound He bears,

I bear forth a living child. 

 

for every tear He suppresses in defense of his honor,

I cry a river, flowing with the pain of hundreds with whom I empathize.

 

I have accomplished everything He has,

while mastering my own feminine feats.

 

I can multitask and carry the burdens of others alongside my own,

while maintaining a serene and genuine optimism.

 

My arms might be rails compared to your brawn

But I, unlike you, can survive on my own.

 

4/12/2010

Stronger

Pink Glory, or The Day Nausea Was Conquered

A sonnet about summer storms

 

i was sea sick; the waves crashing and knocked me to the ground

the great vile tidal waves suppressed my life and goods in their sickly, dampening splendor. 

i could hardly fight them off, for standing too long drained me of energy and

the great splashes of sickness crashed on board.

i stood alone, alone, alone; just me and the sickness 

entombed within a cocoon of nausea, frantically digging for the golden remedy.

alas, the remedy was not gold, but rose-gold!

i toasted the pink bottle to the sun and drank the night away.

swirling currents of pink foam like the dancing waves of the Atlantic

but rather internally, within myself and my own personal plumbing.

i felt the final beads of sweat dry off of my moist face as my body relaxed and the storm passed.

it subsided for an hour or so; but i am ready for the next round.

with the golden Pepto in hand, i can fight off any gastric monsoon;

the only remedy fit to keep my sickly body in tune. 

Pink Glory, or The Day Nausea Was Conquered

subcortical dementia and the rest.

Seize the day while you don’t have arthritis.

Take a risk while you don’t have high blood pressure.

Go skinny dipping at night while you’re still 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

Remember new faces while you don’t have dementia.

Argue while you still have your wits.

Run three miles while you don’t have blood clots.

Stay up all night while you have the energy.

Tan while you don’t have sunspots.

Wear V-necks while you still have perky boobs.

Travel while your brain is still plastic and ready to learn and adjust.

Dance while you have great posture.

Have babies while you’re not suffering from menopause.

Love while your spirit is thriving.

08.05.11

subcortical dementia and the rest.

subcortical dementia and the rest.

Seize the day while you don’t have arthritis. 

Take a risk while you don’t have high blood pressure.

Go skinny dipping at night while you’re still 98 degrees Fahrenheit. 

Remember new faces while you don’t have dementia.

Argue while you still have your wits.

Run three miles while you don’t have blood clots.

Stay up all night while you have the energy. 

Tan while you don’t have sunspots.

Wear V-necks while you still have perky boobs.

Travel while your brain is still plastic and ready to learn and adjust.

Dance while you have great posture.

Have babies while you’re not suffering from menopause.

Love while your spirit is thriving.

 08.05.11

subcortical dementia and the rest.