moongoddessgirl: (Default)
And this has been a very long week indeed and sadly, it isn't over yet. 

I wish I had more time to write this week but It's hell week and midterms and I barely have time to breathe let alone write. It should be easier now that I finished my big research paper (yay). 

Anyway the point of this was a poem. 



The Other Way Around

It’s 4:57 on a Thursday 

And I am fresh out of poetry.

I irrationally hate the month of April 

And it’s been at least two weeks 

Since I took out the trash 

Or did any laundry

 

I’m tired of writing about tragedy.

I’m tired of living in one.

A boy named Nathan died alone in his room today.

I don’t even remember if I met him. 

We have one mutual friend.

(on Facebook if that can even be said to count) 

He’s dead and I’m still worried about

Money and that paper I haven’t written yet.

 

I’m tired of death.

A teacher who died of cancer

A fluffy white dog 

who won’t ever lick my face again

A little girl I never met

A boy who is still haunting me

Five years later

 

I’m trying to remember the steps 

To get out of bed every morning

With a smile on my face. 

(it probably starts with

getting more than four hours of sleep)

I’m doing everything out of order

Make friends, then cry on them

Wake up, then go to bed

Not the other way around

This poem belongs to me and may not be copied or reprinted without my permission
Mercy Victoria, April 2015

moongoddessgirl: (Default)
for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me
i pledge allegiance to the already fallen snow
& to the snow now falling. to the old snow & the new.
to foot & paw & tire prints in the snow both young & aging,
the deep & shallow marks left on cold streets, our long
 
misbegotten manuscripts. i pledge allegiance to the weather
report that promises more snow, plus freezing rain.
though i would minus the pluvial & plus the multitude
 
of messages pressed muddy into the perfectly
mutable snow, i have faith in the report that goes on to read:
by the end of the week, there will be an increased storm-related
illegibility of the asphalt & concrete & brick. for i pledge
 
betrayal to the fantasy of ever reading anything
completely. for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me:
to be brought into a patterned world of weathers
 
& reports. & thus i pledge allegiance to the always
partial, the always translated, the always never
of knowing who’s walking around, what’s being left behind,
the signs, the cries, the breadcrumbs & the blood. the toe-
 
nails & armpit hair of our trying & failing to speak
our specks of here to the everywhere. dirty snow of my weary
city, i ask you to tell me a story about your life
 
& you tell me you’ve left for another country,
but forgot your suitcase. at the airport they told you
not to worry, all your things have already been sent
to your new place by your ninth grade french teacher,
 
the only nice one. & the weather where your true love is
is governed by principles or persons you can’t name,
 
imagine. it is that good, or bad.
 
moongoddessgirl: (Default)
SILENT SOLSTICE (WINTER  BECOMES MAINE)

By Denis Dunn

sleet against the windowpane
or maybe a mouse in the wall…
I listen…
but silence knows no direction
outside,
heavy pine boughs,
deep in the woods
so quiet, so still
a deer steps
inside, warm, 
the sound of a cat’s paw
disturbs very little
as it hunts in a dream
silent as sleet

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