To Break the Silence with a Poem

Gooey globs of

Moose Tracks

 

Smooth swirls of

Dizzying melodies

 

Oh so happy for this

Yellow breeze

With its gentle reminder:

 

The years go on

The sadness fades

Only to be greeted by

A grin again

 

Blue is mundane

Easily forgettable

But yellow will always

Beam and remain

 

~Annah

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Freckles, Trains and Other Identifiers

I literally just wrote this in 10 minutes for my final project in YA Ethnic American Literature and felt that the world wide web needed to hear it.

 

A typo turns into

The “Untied” States:

The land of the panicked.

The home of the fearful.

 

We are an unraveled thread

Of ethnicities

That refuse to braid into one another.

We cannot possibly envision

The final sewn project;

We just think the colors would clash.

 

But aren’t all colors related?

The best hues on the palette are

Those that are mixed.

The best salads are

Those that are tossed.

I think we need to toss our prejudice

Out of the window and

 

Color by feeling, not sight.

 

You are not beautiful because you are

White

Black

Brown

Yellow

Or red…

You are beautiful because

You are you,

And because we all have a little of

Momma’s courage

And Dad’s stubborn love…

The freckles on Nana’s back

Or the thinning hair on Abuelo’s head.

 

We are not compartments,

You see,

We are a full train.

So why do we segregate ourselves so

And mask it under the name

Of unity?

 

Get up.

Stretch your legs.

You have miles to go.

 

…But won’t you let me walk beside you?

 

~Annah

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

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

Mended

Whether silently resigned

Or curtly unkind

I knew you had something to hide

And softly creaked open your heart’s door

 

I tentatively stepped inside

A timid whisper drew me across the threshold

A nervous flame began to grow in a dark corner

Overlooking a musty muddled mess

 

To the untrained eye

It held a chaotic quality

But my calm palm felt

The quaking pile of thread

And sensed the unraveled beauty

 

Weave convenient needle

Through weather-beaten thread

To pull ravishing features

Back together again

 

Words flesh out in blue

But held in caring hands

Begin to change and evolve

Color after color bursts forth

 

Uncertain but steady streams

Of an identity you used to be

Before sun rose over horizon

And you fell below the tide

 

I gaze at the sewn color wheel

Of letters I am blessed to hear

You mutter rapidly

Into my empathetic ear

Before withdrawing to your hushed corner

So easy to cling in the winter

 

I lovingly carry the new creation

With me to the doorway

Look back adoringly at your

Dark cavern

Outlined in silver

 

Every edge is visible from the doorway

Where you would grimace

But I simply beam

 

The door snaps closed in fright

I determinedly place the message

On the wood that

Inevitably absorbs the label

You let me delicately mend:

“Not fargone nor forgotten.”

 

~Annah