New Year

January 2016. In search of a better conclusion.

On Thursday night, as every year, the humans met in Times Square

Bringing their alcohol blankets and their Instagram cameras

Dragging their acquaintances and their maybe midnight kisses

Planning the stories they would tell, the filters they would use, the lives they would portray

Gathering in the mist of a year already half forgotten

Television networks from Atlanta to Augusta warned of the rain as announcers from Augusta to Atlanta thanked their hidden stars that they had only the rain to worry about.

They stared straight at the camera, smiles unchanging.

Can you even remember a New Year's Eve this warm, Charlie?

Absolutely not, Donna. What a day.

Barely blinking.

I, too, traveled for the holiday

Spent the six hour trip to Raleigh writing to those I hoped would not forget me

Five letters in six hours

I hope you're doing well

My trip to Cape Town in June was wonderful

I live in the city now, I took the corporate job

My soul isn't gone yet, I think

Ha ha

I've been volunteering with the Girl Scouts

Teaching myself a couple languages on the side

Rock climbing when I can't find mountains

(and I never can)

I'm meeting people, don't worry

Just this week someone added me on LinkedIn

Have a delightful New Year

Sincerely yours

Pragmatically yours?

Intentionally yours.

The Editorials and the Lifestyle pages told of others' resolutions

Humans who promised to run half a marathon, start a garden, tip higher, smile brighter

I, too, resolved

To get more involved in the community, to read, to travel

All of us planning not merely to do those things, but to become the sorts of people who would do them

We went along like that all fall and into the holidays

All of us

Feigning shock at the weather

Speaking to friends old and new, smiles unchanging

Telling of fireworks and family

Barely blinking

Silently thankful for climate change

And how the climate changed

On Friday morning, as every year, the ball fell

The temperature fell

The snow did not fall for it was too cold for snow, so the sun shone right through to the frozen puddles, as the remnants of last year's mist crystallized on oaks and concrete

By Monday, the humans returned to work in two extra layers

Those who left last year in light blazers and thin shoes arrived in defeat

Their faces too cold to hide the shock of transition

A chill too severe even for their best peacoats

Directors and middle managers and interns hurried together

The wind reddening all of their noses

Cutting their breath indiscriminately

From the window of the bus or of the office, I could only sit and admire

The honesty in the all-too-clear air of a new year

Something charming in the desperation of people whose typically-unchanging ensembles were interrupted by thick scarves and silly knit hats

People who had worked far too hard and far too long for it all to come to this

Whose names were too well recognized to merit such mistreatment by so pedestrian a force

I cannot speak for the others, for the success of their resolutions

But shocked into January's honesty, I have to second guess my own

Wonder whether I wanted to get involved or to make friends

To read or to sound well read

To travel or to seem adventurous

Had we all just resolved to seem to become the sorts of people who would accomplish our grand resolutions?

Maybe the clarity of a new year was meant

To make us human after all.

If I Took You to Seattle

July 2013. Please excuse my poor geography.

If I took you to Seattle

-and I'd take you to Seattle-

we'd go by bus

and on the way

I'd point out all the hills

-even though you'd already have noticed-

and every coffee shop

-though you'd have noticed those too-

and we'd step off wherever you wanted.

We could go to Montlake

Watch canoers under the bridge

Play Frisbee at the university

Dodge cyclists by beautiful old houses and evergreens

Get on a bus to Rainier Avenue

Walk through the International District and talk to interesting strangers

Hear their stories over pho or dim sum

And when we got lost on diagonal streets

With no sun to give us directions

-and there would be no sun

in late morning in Seattle-

Walk up the nearest hill

Scan the horizon for the needle in the sky

And go

Until we could touch the steel

Run in the fountain

Smell the salmon and gyros and fried rice

Watch the festival

-and there'd be a festival-

And head west until there was no more west

Watch the sailboats

Feel the salt water in our faces

Wait for the clouds to clear

So you would believe me

about Seattle summers.

We'd go up to the market

See the locals and friends and tourists

The flying fish and golden pig

Try honey lavender ice cream

And when you'd had your fill

Of fresh cherries and accidental hipsters

We'd find a ferry

Face the wind

Breathe in the saltwater

Point out Rainier and Baker

-southeast and northeast-

Scan for orcas

Hitch a ride to the other side

And kayak right across the canal

Cross the barnacle-ridden oyster beaches

Pass the geoduck jellyfish mess

Lunch under madronas

-I love the madronas-

Just keep walking up, up, up

Through the world of ghost pipe and banana slugs

Where the contour lines get too close to count

And you can't quite tell which way will be up or down

Where the wrong turn could bring Mystery or Deception

But the right turn could lead to Sol Duc or Ozette

(maybe not quite Ozette)

But to Duckabush, Dungeness, Dosewallips

Or Klahane or Elwha or Hoh

From the marmots and osprey to spruce and bellflower

And down to the mussels and seagulls once more

But of course by this point we'd be far past Seattle

Far past the scope of one dry afternoon

So after all this we'd return to the city

And head back to town as Seattleites do

I Love You For

I am going through old notes and realizing that I have poems from years ago. This is from December 2014.

I Love You For

I've read that some people are told,

every day of their lives,

"You are beautiful"

"You are beautiful"

"You are beautiful"

So exclusively and for so long

that they start to hear

"I love you for your shoulders"

"You have gifted the world with your jawline"

"Your value is embedded in your cuticles"

and in nothing else

So, too, when I read your work

I want to say to you

"This is good"

"This is good"

"This is good"

Over and over and over

But I am so afraid to compliment you

Lest you begin to hear

"I love you for your witticisms"

"You have gifted the world with your poetry"

"Your value is embedded in your commentary"

and in nothing else

But I start to wonder

what can I say?

How can I tell you I love you so much that you love yourself?

I love you for your intelligence, your critical mind, your way of discussing

But if we disagree

If I tell you that you are wrong in my eyes

In the way that we define a certain word

Or the author's intent in that sentence

Will you mistake my intent?

Diminish the value in your own brilliant worldview?

I want to give you a friendship that cannot be unwound

And validation that is beyond doubt

But maybe that is too much to offer

Perhaps it is not mine to give

Lent

Marsha from church asks if my family celebrates Lent and I say no

My father's parents both went to seminary but me?

I don't know what happens between Mardi Gras and Good Friday

After twenty years of going to church—and I love going to church—I don't know the first thing about it

Lisa's giving up chocolate and I thought about it

Thought about the good it would do for my budget, my waistline, my self confidence

I am Discipline. I can go forty days without chocolate.

And so I didn't.

I don't know about ashes on people's foreheads or semi-vegetarians but I do know that my God will probably not be impressed if I can go forty days without chocolate

And I don't know as much about trade routes or the Middle East or even Christianity as I should, but I don't think Jesus ate much chocolate

He would probably not be impressed either

People have told me that it's all about being closer to God

That every time you forgo a Hershey's bar, you will remember why

Feel it in your heart

Remember the sacrifice He paid

But I think

That I would feel it in my stomach

And forget about the heart

And I am good at forgetting about the heart

Good at not having feelings

Talking about deep passion for history or languages or rock climbing

As if you could ever love an idea as much as you can love a person

I am great at rejecting people

Intentionally or not

Romantically or not

Telling them no and I'm sorry, or staring them down before they ever ask

I started writing down things I might give up for lent

Salt and vinegar chips

Facebook

Sleeping past ten

Mirrors

Insults

Lying by omission

But I didn't give up any of them

They were too ingrained in my world

Critical aspects of my being

And I introduce myself many ways, but there is a lot that I miss

"This is my name, and I look in the mirror once an hour"

"This is my name, and I think I got an A in history last semester because I stared the professor down whenever I disagreed with him"

"This is my name, and I usually forget to tell people I'm bisexual because I'm busy telling l them I don't have feelings"

Is that a lie by omission?

I spend a lot of time at church and there's a lot I don't know

But I don't think my God is a god of dishonesty

There is a lot I don't know

But I have heard that my God is a god of love

And I may not be Discipline, but I know that I am Certainty

And I think that a God who is made of love

A God who created love

And who, I'm told, created us to love

Would not have created us wrong

Have created me wrong

Created me to love wrong

I finished a bag of salt and vinegar chips while writing this poem

And I will probably sleep past ten tomorrow

Even though my alarm goes off at nine

And my god won't love me the less for it

But I have heard that love must come with honesty

And that I cannot love people and continue to forget to say anything

And the truth is that I do forget

That even if I never fall in love—and I might not—

I do love

And in the interest of honesty,

Maybe this Lent I will give up forgetting

To the chivalrous men in your well-tailored armor

I thought about apologizing for this poem

Then I thought about every article I've read about women apologizing too much.

I am not angry, but I am not sorry.

To the chivalrous men in your well-tailored armor

Do not call me oversensitive

I am not.

In your false passion/reason dichotomy,

I am cold as rock.

When the women go to the salon for manicures and gossip

Because centuries upon centuries of gender stereotypes and private sphere bullshit have given them that role

And then mocked their petty lives

When they watch romantic comedies and bake cookies together

To get over the men who broke their hearts

Because they have been taught that men break and women are broken

And all that heteronormative active/passive garbage

When they sit in their book clubs and talk about people and feelings

I will be long gone

So don't call me oversensitive.

Do not tell me these are isolated incidents

That I've let this whole thing get to my head

Need to take a step back

I have stepped back so far, all I can see is the big picture

And let me tell you about institutional oppression

There are no isolated incidents

Do not tell me that women's issues are simply none of your business

I recognize that you don't feel responsible

I don't hurt women, I respect them, I protect them

I understand that nobody thinks this is their fault

But this is everyone's business

And the next time I hear you tell someone to man up

Or defend your definition of chivalry

Your duty to protect the fragile female

(I know you don't believe you think I'm fragile)

I will remind you how responsible you are

Do I look like I need your protection?

Don't call me oversensitive

And the problem is this

I believe you when you tell me

I would never touch someone without asking

Damn straight you wouldn't.

I believe that you trust my knowledge and intelligence

Without doubting me on the grounds of my

Natural incapacity for higher thought

But sir

Every time you have noted that someone's skirt was too short

Shirt was too low

Mocked her for wearing what she wants

Agreed with an authority who told her not to distract the boys

As if their distraction is her fault

You are blaming a victim.

For every time you excused oppression

It's a cultural thing

Maybe that's just how things work over there

In that part if the world

For every time you have laughed at a prostitute joke

Read an article and said

She should have known not to walk alone

Not to visit that part of town

Sir that is rape culture.

You are still a perpetrator.

But this isn't about rape

Every time you say

It's a guy thing

I just don't understand women

Women are naturally more risk-averse. It's their maternal instinct.

Fuck maternal instincts.

Let's climb a mountain together

Then you can tell me I am risk averse

When you complain about female privilege

About girls who get free drinks

You can take back my drink and give me free birth control

Take back your protection and give me female superheroes

Take back your offer to walk with me in the bad part of town

And stop objectifying us in the first place

Stop judging me if I am not well dressed

And then mocking me when I go shopping

Stop standing up to give me a seat on the bus

And start standing up to give me a seat in congress

So when you and your chivalrous army come around in your well-tailored armor

Only to find that I, too, have shields
And I have been fighting for years

Maybe stick around and look who I'm fighting

Instead of helping me off the battlefield, back into my private sphere

Don't call me oversensitive.

First Rain of the Year

And it pours
And all of us in our thick down jackets and
Warm snow boots
Had nearly forgotten

We had been overcome
By the icicle trees
By long scarves and gloves that were
Never thick enough
By bright blue skies when it was
Too, too cold for snow
And how delighted we had been
When it warmed up to blizzard weather
And we could run outside and trip in the snow banks and
Brush fresh flakes from our eyelashes
Without fearing that our
Nose hairs
Might freeze
How delightful indeed

So we had forgotten about rain
And what devastation!
When at last we awoke
What rude reminding!
As we go out for the first time
To the unmistakeable grey
Above, below, and as far ahead as we can see

We had forgotten the rain
That seeps through the holes in our Converse
And soaks our favorite down jackets
You can hear the shock everywhere
"...feel like a walrus..."
"...home during the monsooon seasons..."
"...wait for summer and flip flops..."
"...SO COLD."
And everyone who had been thrilled by the frozen pond
And those who had begged for the snow to melt
Come together in
Sheer detestation

First rain of the year
And we sit by our windows
And drink the cocoa we had saved
For one final blizzard
"Just in case"
And watch the water flow down the
Twisting sidewalks
Melting feet of snow in hours
And see our fellow students
Shaking off their umbrellas
Adjusting their socks inside their galoshes
Jumping over wide flows of dirtied slush

Every year we forget
Look forward to springtime and sunshine
Forgetting real spring
Forgetting April showers

First rain of the year
And it's barely March

The things she carries

She carries her sorrows upon her back
They cut her like tattoos
And every sad person she's ever met
And every drop of booze

Weighs down upon her shoulder blades
And grates upon her spine
So she assumes there's something more
When you say you feel fine

"I knew a person like you once
Her smile was a façade"
And so she doubts your happiness,
Your honesty, your God

At best she is a critic,
Her perceptions often great
But oh, at worst, how she condemns
How deeply can she hate

So when we make her smile
She's still got plenty to unpack
But when we let her down,
She holds the memory on her back