Rituals

Enter a caption

the day is a series of catchphrases

 

the sun rises and falls 

 

casts the same judging glare 

through her living room window

 

she’s forgotten what the air feels like

when it catches and holds in her throat

like all of the words she’d tossed into 

a jar before she dared to try them on for size

 

somewhere her daughter 

cries in unpredictable patterns 

quiet, loud, a siren’s wail

 

barely breathing but never more alive

 

life thrums at the edges of her doorstep

 

she counts the crows huddled 

along the power lines

and steps back inside

mother is a snake

[https://www.artmajeur.com/en/artist/arvydas-butautas/collection/selected-artworks/1503886/artwork/egg/7916323]

and I am flailing for cover

done up Easter egg bright

she can find me by barely

trying, I am just too passionate

 

and yet she goes.

 

someone else can do it

snakes always say

no time to talk about feelings.

 

my bones crack and

suddenly there is sky

 

I crane my neck

for a better look

call

 

mother, mother

 

but only the clouds roll in.

 

Mothers

(http://themetapicture.com/these-pictures-are-what-dreams-are-made-of/)

you are little more than
silk against my breast,
eyes closed with gentle
willingness while I am
frantically carving every one
of your miniscule movements
in a place where I can pit them
against my own lack of comfort –

these early suns and moons
are all those ones we should
remember like dreams, if
only I could stop trying to
decode the twitching of your
eyelids, counting your lashes,
listening for your ocean breath
through a misshapen shell –

you are content despite
your mother’s beautiful
weariness, her eyes that
are glass no matter your state
and I have been told that I
will still sneak to you at night,
when you are much larger than
I am, if only to steal a little peace.

I’m Going to Be a Mommy!

As you are reading this, my husband and I are hopefully somewhere holding our baby boy. (That’s assuming this kid doesn’t decide to make a late appearance!) Either way, today, the 26th of May, is my official due date. The day our entire world is destined to change in the most beautiful way. But today represents something else as well: it is my sweet, funny, fiercely missed grandfather’s birthday, and we have all been keeping fingers and toes crossed that he’s told my son how cool it would be to share a birthday with his great grandpa.

I’ve scheduled this post ahead of time to let everyone know that while I may be disappearing for a bit, I won’t be gone permanently. I’ll just be taking some time to learn how to care for a very tiny human being and soaking up every precious moment as a new mother. So, thank you so much to those of you who have been following my blog; I am grateful for every single like, comment, and share. I’ll be back soon to read more of your beautiful work, and will likely be bursting at the seams with poems about my son and every small new thing I’ll be in awe of.

Until then, be well, my friends.

xoxo,

Nicole Marie

P.S.

If you’re coming across my page for the first time, thank you for visiting! While I’m away, here are some pieces I hope you might enjoy:

a poet to her son

My Grandfather Who Lingers Still

This is How You Grieve Him

Daydreams

mother asleep in the woods

(http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2012/06/the-surreal-forests-of-romania/)

mother glows as well as any

creature of the night can glow.

slivers of her are seen in

pools of shy moonlight and

untouched there is something

there that is so much like

comfort I catch myself reaching

for her.

 

mother’s fingertips are molded

from cigarette ash instead of crazy glue.

she is calling me to the kitchen and

drinking from a carton of milk.

 

mother draws distress signals

in the flour on the counter and

reminds me again how lucky I am.

I pull a pack of cards from

the corner junk drawer and

build a house while she weeps

like a picture star.

 

I am constantly seeing her face

through a coating of pale and

blush the color of winter’s trees,

and in my dreams I find her

asleep in the underbrush with

nothing but the muted hues

of herself, and I cry and

fall asleep too.

At Midnight

Daddy built a fort in the living

room out of cigarette ash and

empty beer bottles while I

kept busy sweeping up the soot.

 

I tasted it once, licked an

index finger and dragged it

across my salmon tongue

in the shape of a crucifix –

it was thick and earthy,

it hid between my teeth and

told me stories while I slept.

 

Mommy poured another glass

of iced tea on our front step and

exchanged gossip like rubies

with our next door neighbor.

 

I hopscotched over purple

crooked numbers on our

pavement, stared up at the

clouds that watched me overhead –

at six the streetlights would kick

on and I’d hide between their yellow

while I waited to be whistled inside.

 

At midnight I was in bed carving

holes in my mattress by moonlight:

one for the ash,

one for a bottle,

one for the rubies.

 

I smoothed down

the pink sheets and dreamed.

I reach for relevance

my mother

made dinner

then yelled at the sky,

we watched it turn

red as her gravy.

 

is it impossible to think

of all the breaths lost

in every one of your smiles?

 

I am a single note

in your undulating laughter,

throw me on repeat

to keep me around.

 

my mother

told the sun when to shine,

when death came

she scoffed at it.

 

I struggle

in between sleep

to give you each a reason

to plaster my voice

to your skin.

 

I am attempting

the delicate art

of making words dance.

I fashion origami emotions

and throw them into fires.

 

she was the master

of her makeshift world,

tossing out blows of

aging wisdom

in a pencil skirt,

a dishtowel draped

on one shoulder

like fine silk.

 

I think of her

but I reach for relevance,

I watch her spark

as it dances like fine jewels

on the skyline.

 

I was her for days

(http://favim.com/image/263890/)

my mother left on a Tuesday

morning

tea pot screaming on the stove

the wallpaper

fifty year old paisley

peeled like potatoes in her honor

 

I touched my fingers to hers

so cold, so cold

a fixture of

sky blue highways

roadmaps at her temples

Egypt behind her knees

 

in her apartment

shelves sat thick with memory

I was elbows bent

on her favorite chair

in the parlor

everything was her, spiced

everything was floral

 

I was her for days

fleece robe, Billie on vinyl

I tore circles in the green shag rug

called the neighbor darling

drank manhattans before noon

rearranged the roses

held a 38 special to my curls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday!

 

It’s 12:06. That means six minutes ago marked the 44th anniversary of the beautiful woman who brought me into this world. Yep, you have her to thank. And yes I know she’s young (I’m 24), and a hottie.

You’ve read about her before , but I’ll mention her epicness again; she gave me my pale skin and my she listens to me complain and she  has seen me through all the dark times.

So – if you’re creepin’ on WordPress between now (12:13 AM, Monday) and 12 AM tomorrow night, please join me in wishing my awesome mama a very happy 44th birthday! I’d love to get her as many likes/comments as possible as part of her birthday present. I’m broke.

Happy Monday everyone!

xoxo