NaPoWriMo 2019 - Days 3 and 4

It's April 5th and I'm already behind today's prompt is a doozy . . . so I'll give it its own separate post.

Day 3's prompt was to write a poem that unfolds over a fair amount of time . . .

It is December, I am on the phone with my sister
She unintentionally lets me know that
Our family
Will be
Growing
By one.
But I can't tell anyone
It's too soon.
She will let them know when the time is right.

It is late March
My nephew has told my sister she is "big"
Her belly has become obvious
As the new little one
Grows
Under the surface
Deep inside
Cells are dividing
Multiplying
Forming into eyes - what color will they be?
Nose, hair, fingers, toes.
My sister announces it will be a girl
Excitement!
A niece finally!

The baby is due in July
And I hope to be there
I was in the room when my nephew arrived.

It was in November, I was called
Told my sister was in labor.
I called my boss and told her I wouldn't be at work.
Got in my car and drove two hundred and fifteen miles
(You think I'm joking?)
I was afraid I would miss it.
Someone should have reminded me:
Labor takes time.
We were at the midwife's clinic.
People were sent twice for food.
My other sister and I went for a walk
Down a trail through the woods.
"Tell us when its time to push"
Said my brother on the phone.
There was much discussion of
Progression
Dilation.
I went into the room with my sister.
It was dark.
She was laying in bed.
The pain - contractions - came periodically.
"What can I do?"
"Push here."
I formed my hand into a fist and pushed
Harder and harder
Til it seemed to help her pain.

Finally, finally
After hours and hours
Her water was broken
And soon after
It was time to push

Birth is quite a shocking sight.
For while newborn babies are small
They come into the world through a rather small . . . opening.

I think it was 2 AM when I finally saw him.
A tiny little baby
All new and pink.
Finally finally here.

Like all things worth waiting for,
Babies take time.










Day 4's prompt was to write a sad poem, perhaps using a sonnet.

I am often unaware
As it creeps in quietly
But soon I recognize it in my stare
I notice my immobility
When it comes to even brushing my hair
It makes itself at home
And it becomes difficult to wash my underwear
Far from my bed I will not roam
It lays on my chest and my mind wanders hazily
Simple tasks seem impossible
My days are spent lazily
Job applications are insurmountable
Always an uninvited guest
It proves itself a persistent pest

Some Sort of Life Crisis

Hello internet,

Are you there?

No matter, I'll just write this poem here for you whenever you happen to stop by.




The other day I was driving on the highway
And we saw a car fire.
My sister called 911
A firetruck arrived
The fire was extinguished
We went about our day.


But today, I can't help but feel
That my life is that burning car
And I am the driver standing nearby
Helplessly watching it go up in smoke
Uncertain and unaware of where or how to go.

My life is not what I expected or anticipated
Or anywhere near what I would like it to be.

But I am stuck and I don't know how to go where I want.

You're not stuck.

I am. I'm stuck.
I can apply, apply, apply for jobs
And not get them.

I am working a job anyone could get
with a clean background
and a high school diploma.

My college degrees were in vain.
Wasted time. Wasted money.
Loans that seem insurmountable.

I think of that story
With the train
That just thought really hard
And tried really hard
And got over the hill.

I really liked that story as a kid.
I tried to live out that story as I grew up.

But I did not crest the hill.

They will tell you if you try hard enough
You'll get it
But that isn't true.

You've got to have the right stuff.
And I don't.
I don't have the experience.

And I've applied for jobs that I would like
That don't require experience
But if someone else who has experience applies
They will get the job.

So I guess I need to volunteer.
I should have volunteered and interned while I was in school.
I should have done more.

Getting a degree does not guarantee you a job

GETTING A DEGREE DOES NOT GUARANTEE YOU A JOB.

It doesn't even always guarantee you an interview.

I'm not saying college is a waste
It's just you've got to have the experience too.
So you have to volunteer and have a job and get internships
AND study and go to class.

Then maybe you'll be able to get a job that uses your degree.

And suddenly I feel like I've done everything wrong.
I studied hard but that wasn't enough.
I had an internship but that wasn't enough.

And it all kind of boils down to this massive feeling
that
I am NOT enough.

And so my life feels like a car on fire.
And I am twenty-five
And having some sort of life crisis.

If you couldn't tell, I'm feeling down,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo - Day 3

I had a long day today so this post is actually coming to you at about 1AM my time on Day 4. I was trying to go to sleep, but I felt like I was forgetting something. Then suddenly it came to me: MY POEM. So I am putting off sleep in favor of not falling off the poetry bandwagon (at least not this early anyway).

Day 3's prompt is to write an elegy that focuses on an unusual fact about the subject of the elegy. At first I thought I might do school (I'm nearing graduation with my masters and I don't plan to return to school after that), but there wasn't anything odd about school. Then I thought I might write a poem around my English teacher, Mr. Fleming (a local legend) who was a great storyteller and always said "dang fried chicken," but despite that I miss him and his english class, he isn't deceased (thank goodness!). Sadly there are many pets that I could write an elegy, but that is not quite right. Interesting side note: apparently O Captain! My Captain is an elegy for Pres. Lincoln, I didn't realize it was an elegy at all, but then I only knew it from that scene in Dead Poet's Society (Robin Williams would be a good subject for an elegy), but I digress.

In December, just before Christmas break, my great aunt Vivian died. I learned that she was dying only days before it happened and I was unable to see her before it did. I held it together thinking that I could say goodbye at her funeral, but sadly, I wasn't able to go to her funeral either. I haven't been to visit her grave. I haven't gotten any closure at all. So tonight, I'm going to write an elegy for Vivian.

Elegy for Great Aunt Vivian

Not by blood were we related
But still my heart rips in two at the loss of you.
Dear sweet lady, almost a century old
How I wish just once more
In my hand, some skip-bo cards to hold.
I remember it like it was yesterday,
Sitting at the round table
The light hanging low overhead.
You would scold us when we didn't play wisely
Because even Skip-bo can have strategy.
I remember the bronzed baby shoes
On a shelf in your trailer
The tree out front
The time I tried chocolate covered orange peel
I didn't like it.
I remember most vividly
Sitting at that table, playing skip-bo
Even though you had to re-teach us
Almost every time we visited.
I wondered sometimes if it bored you
Would you rather be playing bridge?
You kept your independence.
You were vivacious,
Graceful, strong.
Kind, loving,
As long as you lived.
The matriarch of your family.
Even when your kidneys were failing
You were strong, beautiful, kind.
We aspire to be like you.
Sharp as a tack, witty, kind.
You had a skype and a facebook.
You didn't let technology leave you behind.
I remember when we visited you
You always invited my sisters and I
To return. To stay with you for a few days.
I wonder what we would have learned.
Great Aunt Vivian
I miss you so.
I yearn to go back to Kerrville,
To Tumbleweed Drive
To knock on your door
And find you inside
To play one last game of Skip-bo.
I wish you were still alive.

Love is . . .

Love is about as sure as a race horse.
The odds may be good
But there are no sure things.
You can't bet on any one horse and know it will win
You can't bet on any one relationship and know it will last.



I'm feeling a bit down today and I owe some poems for NaPoWriMo . . . this was inspired by my mood and the Kentucky Derby on Saturday (although Nyquist was the odds on winner; who did, in fact, win).

Thoughts on Death

Today, a cat my family had for most of my life (around 15-17 years) died.

A few weeks ago, a friend's fiancee was killed in an accident involving a drunk driver.

Numerous police officers have been killed.

Since April, two of my very own pets (ducks) were killed by a raccoon. A bird my sister rescued died during the summer.

Lots of people die every day.

So death has been on my mind a lot.

I don't deal with death well.

I don't like it.

I want to live in a world where people and animals don't have to die.

Death robs us of the people and animals we love the most. Those who we feel we cannot live without. Those who we never imagined living without. It breaks our heart and our soul. It rocks our world.

And yet, we look around and see that even though our world is crumbling around us, no one else seems to realize that our world has changed forever. They just go about their lives as though everything is exactly the same. But it isn't.

And perhaps, that is the most heartbreaking part of death, or any loss. No one else is affected. No one else seems to notice just how much the world has changed. We feel isolated. No one else seems to understand.

We have a hole in our hearts that will not heal with time. Our lives, our worlds are changed forever in ways that others simply don't understand. We continue to live. Even with this ache in our hearts that may dull with time, but will never completely heal. We will carry their memory with us, we will continue to love them. We will miss them terribly until we one day are reunited.

Some of you may think that I am overreacting to the death of a pet. But really this is something that has been building up inside me over time.

But I am also heartbroken over the death of this cat. I could try to explain how special she was but you just couldn't understand that she truly was (and is) as dear to me as a best friend is to you.

And if you are grieving over a loss, whether recent or in the past, know that you are not alone. While the world may not feel the particular ache that you feel, and may not miss whoever you miss, we all have a hole in our hearts and a longing for someone who we can only guess when we will see them again.

We love you, Oreo.
We love all those who have left us.

Peace,

Sharon