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aayoung

Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit

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writing

Virginia

pictures of
young Virginia Woolf
cause me to weep
rivers
her features
seem as though
depression was her mother
pain her father
a mouth made to sigh
as if she knew
the moment she was born
she wanted to die

my poetry waits quietly in my pocketbook

happiness is
turning my moments
of inspiration
into
stream-of-consciousness
Pinterest sessions
where one may choose
cakes made from edible flowers
lavender lovely
make wedding centerpieces
from hemp rope,
vintage coffee sack burlap,
and the discarded
quilt pieces of the
Daughters of the American Revolution
my poetry waits quietly
in my pocketbook
content in my joy
encouraging me
to be my own woman
a connoisseur of literature
a goddess of wine
Dionysus triumphant
a suburban expatriate
who refuses to put a rug
on her toilet lid
born to a people who do

no elegy

no elegy

for me, please

i plan to die

with laugh lines

ecstasy

glowing
gasping
i quaked
as he reentered me
he said
i’m sorry…i’m sorry
i told him never
apologize
for ecstasy

the sort meant for kissing

he told me
i had the most beautiful lips
heart shaped
the sort meant for kissing
so i showed him
they were capable
of so much more

baseball field in january

your absence
is an empty coffee cup
a baseball field in January
a dead cactus
an unwashed plate
the record player needle
that simply gave up

this house has a history

 

i put on some water for tea

then decided to mop the floors

of our new little nest

before the furniture gets carried in

before the rest of our lives happen

Murphy’s Oil Soap

water and sunshine into a bucket

carried through the echoing emptiness

of what will be

over original hardwood

placed there in 1941

i love to clean

the ritual of it

i write in my thoughts as i work

images painting themselves

into spaces around my gentle humming

spreading wet across the grain

seeing hands that mopped this floor

before me

wives husbands

fathers mothers

lovers and

put-upon teenagers

oh this house

has a history

built the year

the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor

it’s all still there

nailed down memories

layers of time entombed in wax

someone stood in that living room and heard

we dropped the bomb

we landed at Normandy

of a flag raised in Iwo-Jima

Kennedy was dead

Vietnam was a lost cause only good

for folded flags being handed to weeping mothers

Nixon was a crook

Reagan and John Lennon had been shot

the Berlin wall had fallen

i heard first steps

crying babies

crying widows

joyous laughter

say cheese

wine glasses clinking together

realizing with a smile

this floor is mine

the foundation of a family

and i will love it

then

the teapot

began to whistle

 

 

 

 

 

crazy glue

your heart
is going to get broken
because i have decided
to piece together
mine

of things beautiful

a person looks
to the night sky
and sees stars

a poet looks
to the night sky
and sees a graveyard
of light

how horrible the heart of a poet
our burden a tragedy
of things beautiful

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