A Trace of Joy

Yesterday in my British Literature class, our professor had us write poems modeled after some of the modernist poets we read. This poem is loosely based on “Valentine” by Carol Ann Duffy. I wrote it on the fly with no revisions and I appreciate that unapologetic way of writing. Maybe it’s flawed, maybe the word choice could be improved, but it’s bold in its imperfections.

 

Not a giggle or a hug.

 

I give you a scraped knee.

Scab oozing over in blood

It echoes contentment

Like happy toes squirming through mud.

 

Here.

It will leave a foul stench,

But one that whispers

Like a butterfly wing

Of rapidly beating hearts

Playing make-believe.

 

I want you to remember the truth.

 

Not neat pews at church,

But raucous, rowdy adventures.

 

I give you a scraped knee

To soften your heart

That has confined itself

To cubicles

And tax forms.

 

Take it.

Feel the rough edges on your

Weathered, weary hands.

Find joy in simplicity again.

~Annah

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Yellow Birthday

I wrote this yesterday, 8/15/17.
Button up and button on

Today is yellow birthday

Did you hear the tears last night

Dripping into a yellow pool

That juxtaposes sass and smiles

With tired, aching, dry eyes

Yellow, sallow skin

Help

Yourself to a piece of cake

Smile and reminisce into the lens

Then drive through yellow-lit fields

A color grim and grateful

A color faint yet strong

On this dear yellow birthday

I’m reminded where I belong
~Annah

Inquiring After a Word

Sometimes putting words to paper is really difficult. Sometimes I find old words that comfort me, because they were not difficult at all. Here is one such work, as titled above.

 

Our mouths carry words with so many meanings

‘God’ is someone I look up to dearly

At his wife the bold man screams ‘god’ clearly

Each of us are delicate, angry beings

 

A dizzy girl lies staring at ceilings

He almost saved her dad—not, but nearly

Musty pews could it really be merely

Wishful thinking through dumb, ‘god’damn feelings

 

Search, but don’t let your heart be too far-gone

Do we praise the god with capital ‘G?’

Opinions are where inner fights will spawn

Left, right, fragments of color only see

A pattern of misery will be drawn

Instead of lenses that will break us free

 

~Annah

While I Weep

I sit here crying
Because they don’t know any better.

A ten year old girl
Standing on the brink of a full life
Never saw it coming
That her mother would trade her
For a few pieces of silver

She is used
Abused
And broken

And she knows nothing else.

A thirteen year old boy
Playing star on the basketball team
Was unaware that when he missed
The winning shot
His dad would make sure he never saw victory again

He is beaten
Ashamed
And blamed

And he knows nothing else.

A twenty year old woman
Walking through her campus
Had never imagined
That others would comment “too skinny”
And it would break her

She is stressed
Depressed
And self-harms

And she knows nothing else.

A thirty year old man
Radiating passion in his work
Could not have predicted
That his business would fail
And he had no means to regain composure

He is lost
Powerless
And homeless

And he knows nothing else.

All the while
I sit here crying
For my children
Deserve
But don’t know
Any better.