or, growing soft in my young age
a snapshot of thankfulness
I begin the poem sitting between the little slopes across my cabin,
head on the ground & my back cradled by the ladybug grass.
I stretch my legs through the bedstraw and vetch, letting them itch
& reveling in it. I let it poke at my ears, let the visitors
flit by my cheek
and crumple the page here. I think
of the old sisters now
in orange saying
I remember you as
the week ends, like they’ve suddenly unlocked
my younger years. I remember every best
friend without picturing them, I feel
I’ll remember this, growing
crow’s feet at 19 &
growing around the grief
of my small sky. I draw the dog
on my thigh again, again,
feel alone until I see curls
& a hand on my shoulder,
feel lonely until she says ‘how
are you?’ and it sounds like who;
I remember — she used to ruin my life
now she calls me
darling, says ‘varsha, thank
you, sweetheart,’ and I think I see
in her eyes she’s saying sorry.
But the other woman is worn, young:
she taps her nose three times, bangles
singing, lifts her skirt to run barefoot
after the ball. Behind!
— I chase until she leaves,
turning for the cabin with laughter
on my heaving breath, feeling
like one of 2. I keep meeting the prettiest girl
I’ve ever met — I keep meeting the next version
of me & I hope
this keeps happening. I’m leaving
the grown-ups & kids,
stepping out of the night into my room
to grab a song and let it open in me.
& wait! — I get it
for now.
On the trail, in the clearing,
I’m still melting down
to my senses: an ear,
an eye — take a picture of her
yanking her face away
from the dog’s adoring mouth.
She takes off
her hoodie and her shoulders are
real; it keeps going:
Saint John’s wort, my teacher’s weathered hand,
bergamot leaves, the shimmering humidity
of August; I put a wild carrot in my mouth and forgot
about the poem until now. Love bug:
I know it’s hard to hear my voice
sitting by me on the slope,
on your floor, in the old Ultima.
I’m writing now
but otherwise I’m nods and blinks —
promise
you’ll find me
in the notes I type when we’re together,
in the smile I give you
as I’m staring at the bumblebees.
Grab me
in the open palm
I stretch out for you,
the blackberries I
plucked
for your watering mouth.
writer’s note
!!! she posted. and she figured out single spacing on medium.
This past summer was so rich. iykyk! I didn’t write much (if you couldn’t tell from the poem) but I had a lot of memories coming back so I thought I’d make use of it. This poem feels a little beyond me at the moment but I didn’t want to keep putting it off. So make of it what you will. I think I like how it sounds.
I hope your summer was a fulfilling reprieve. I know we’re back / getting back to school. I hope it’s going well < 3 I’m finally taking a poetry class! If any part of this little word doodle resonated with you let me know :-o
Oh also I am published!!! Find a poem of mine in The Foundationalist, issue 7.2. And another in the upcoming issue of Hyphen, from Temple. So so cool.
