loose threads

Woof. What a century 2025 has been already. It’s April, everything is scary AND in bloom. The birds and the bugs and the furry critters are feeling frisky. The mercury is creeping up. Everything is scary. It’s APRIL. And everything is scary. (It’s okay to be scared, exhausted, anxious, numb, confused, or however else you’re feeling right now. Lean into your community. Sit in nature. Make art. Make love. Find joy and hope in whatever you can find joy and hope in. I love you.)

It dawned on me this evening that I’ve neglected to post the three poems I’ve written for this month, so you will find them below, along with the text. I’ve also picked up a pseudonym, which I am still experimenting with, but I already LOVE using. It’s a nod to my matriarchal line and a tribute to myself. I don’t care if you think that’s conceited. It’s my name, not yours 🙂

Prompts of “sun-steeped marigolds” and “unturned stone” from my goddess, Prudence Brooks (buy “Truce“!)

april showers bring may flowers

so i unzip my heart and spread wide its chambers
 invite in the deluge of hope to every hidden corner
  and forgotten hollow of my dreams

surely this drown will yield a vast field
 of wildflowers for the bees and the wasps,
  my stamen will tremble and my pollen will spread

my resilience falling over sun-steeped marigolds
 and all of the unturned stones my feet have yet to touch
  on the adventure back to myself

---

lover,
     your secrets
  tattoo my skin
    in ribbons of silver
 and lilac

 i long
   to become the 
song bird
 perched on your
window sill in
     the apricot dawn

will you
 open your palm
for my tiny talons? 
  will
 you
   leave me seeds
 of           love
to store for winter?

tattoo my simple
  songs on
your tender heart;
  the flutter of my
wing
 against your
cheek
    in spring

---

Prompt/idea from @amykaypoetry on Instagram

i don’t want to set work goals

i want to stand on a beach made of sea glass. to watch the pacific churn with energy. to hear the surf fizzle over the sand and pebbles. the deep rhythmic thud of waves against the ocean floor. against the exposed rock. i want the waves to sneak up on me while i am watching with eyes wide open. i want the icy fingers to loop my bare ankles. to suck the sand from under my feet. i want to sink my heels into the dissolving earth as i am lifted. carried. buoyed by the energy. limbs akimbo, a wounded octopus. driftwood on the open water. directed by the currents. final destination: tba 

how’s that for goal-setting?