On Sunday I wrote you a letter about how the sky was such a deep blue
Then, on Sunday, again, I wrote you another one, a long one, about the sky
And how I walked into it, over and over, like a door I kept opening
On Monday, I wrote you a letter about how my body rolled over
The green field of you, Carpathian, unreal
On Wednesday I wrote another long letter, mostly apologizing about missing Tuesday
On the next day (Thursday) parts of you fell from the sky, your limbs, your mouth, the eyes of you
The next day I put you back together again
On Saturday, Monday happened again, or was it Tuesday
But today, it’s Sunday, and I hear the sirens, why do they even bother, and an explosion, culture’s shrapnel, my lips kissing the torn edge of you

Image credit:Anna Buck

Well, this is me! I'm a mom, world traveler, linguist, and poet. I write from the impulse that overwhelms me and then heals me. Most times.

 

I run a monthly poetry workshop, teach yoga at a museum, and work full time as a test developer person. I try to enter every interaction with love. When I'm successful at doing that, it works 100% of the time. Just saying.