that's mrs. mediocrity to you

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

I was so honored to be asked by the lovely Kat MacNally
to contribute a prompt to this year’s reverb13!

Day 20: The mirror never lies, but everything in it is backwards.

Look at what you see in the mirror. How does it change if you view yourself
with eyes that can only look forward?

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a string of tomorrows
beaded with promise

wisdom and experience,
drawn with patience and empathy

old scars that have healed,
new ones to form

sunrise, sunset

a heart refusing to grow bitter
a mind refusing to be defined

a soul, still learning
a hand etched with time

silence
beneath forever’s
painted sky

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 19: How will you practice self-compassion?

::

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i offer this hand.

.

to the world, to you,

.

to myself.

.

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 18: In the midst of living, did you find moments to breathe?
Were there moments that held you in the embrace of peace and quiet and
pure contentment? Did these moments catch you by surprise or
did you create the space for peace to find you?

How will you make space for greater peace in 2014?

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I’ve learned to find peace in many places. In books and in words, through running and simple, repetitive chores.

But my favorite place for peace is in my garden, which is just a bit ironic because the truth is, it’s always in a state of chaos, as any garden that doesn’t have a full-time caretaker will be.

But no matter… I still find peace there. Most mornings in early summer, I head out there for my first cup of tea, sit in a favorite spot to sip and listen to the birds.

I fight the urge to get up and weed, or deadhead, or control, and try to just enjoy this place that used to be lawn and driveway and mud and is now my very own postage stamp of paradise.

Even the work of gardening brings me peace, a day spent in the sun with nothing to do but plant and weed and tidy restores my very soul. (Mulching, not so much.)

The lessons I have learned in my garden spill over into my life, daily. Patience, of course, being the most obvious.

The cycle of life. The force of nature. Rest and renewal. Death.

True love.

It’s all there, in amongst the chaos.

Now that it’s winter, I will find my peace in front of the fire, dreaming of spring and green and my garden.

Waiting to inhale.

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 17: What word did you select to be your traveling companion in 2013?

What word will you choose to guide you through 2014?

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Words.

I cannot choose just one.

And really, I prefer to let a word choose me.

So I shall wait, and listen.

Sometime in January, or February,

I will hear an echo.

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This year was ordinary magic. And fifty.

But then, in truth, it was neither of those things.

In truth, it was chaos and catching up,

illness and patience,

writing and family.

It was, again and again, a beautiful mess.

A gift to be cherished, this life.

A gift.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 16: Habits and addictions, some are silly, some serious;
when we have issues without answers, they can hold us so tight
that we stop moving forward with the life we intended.

Were you able to loosen those fetters this year, and if you were successful,
how did you manage it? Did you accept outside help, or work alone?

If you still feel that grasp of addiction or hurtful habits,
what will you do differently in the year to come?

::

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i embrace the questions.

.

whether this is habit or addiction, good or bad,

matters less than the lack of answers.

.

for me, this is the riddle of life

and each day is an unfinished puzzle.

.

i am perfectly mediocre in my lack of perfection,

and my flaws form the map of my existence:

one without legend or destination.

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i embrace the questions.

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 15: Give us a sensory tour of 2013. How would you describe the year
that’s passing in terms of Sight? Sound? Smell? Taste? Touch?

::

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if your smile
lights up a room,
then you are my sun
.
the timbre
of your voice
rolls over my skin
in a melody
of remembrance
.
the scent of snow
on a cold dark morning
wraps me in a warmth
that has no science
.
i dream of
raspberry lips and
chocolate sighs
sealed with salty
kisses
.
one fingertip
tracing miles
of a journey
held fast
with borrowed
twine
.

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This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 12: Today, identify something muddy that kept recurring for you throughout 2013, and then ask yourself this: What’s the clear truth underneath this damn mud if I finally wash myself clean??

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Time.

I get stuck in it, again and again. It grabs at my ankles, slowing my pace, just as I try to race through life.

The mud of time dries on my skin, cracks and crackles, weighs me down.

All the things I want to do versus all the things I have to do versus all the time I don’t have.

There is never a right answer.

But the funny thing about time, you learn to love it, even as you fight it, even as it taunts you, even as it refuses to budge.

And so, I embrace each moment. The good, the bad and the ugly, as well as the profound, the lovely, the beautiful. Each morning I arise and hobble (not jump) out of bed, and for that brief, single moment, I am clean.

And then it’s time to go out and get my hands dirty, again and again and again. To wallow in my beautiful mess. To allow each day to be what it is.

Life.

I watch my outdoor cat: he plays hard, runs through fields muddy or not, hunts and kills, hides and seeks, rolls on the ground to scratch his back.

But always, at night, before he goes to bed, he spends a good half hour washing himself clean.

And then he sleeps, hard and sound.

In the morning, he is the first one up, ready to race out the back door and start all over.

Clean, dirty, clean again.

Life.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 11: What challenges lie ahead in 2014? How might you meet them boldly?

::

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living. loving. aging.

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with grace,

and courage.

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 10: Living life on auto-pilot can feel disorienting and dull.
How did you cultivate a life worth loving during 2013?
How can you turn off your auto-pilot button in 2014?

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hold your heart
in your hands
on your sleeve
on the tip
of your tongue

listen

everything
everyone
everywhere
is telling
their story

stop

step aside
let life
race past you
stand in silence
and wait

breathe

feel the wind
lift your hair
the sun
warm your skin
embrace this place

hope

claim your path
carry baggage
burn the bridges
of time
offer shelter

rest

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 7: Please post your favorite picture of yourself from 2013, self-portrait or otherwise!

::

I looked. I really did. But I am good at avoiding the camera, both when it’s in my own hand and when it’s in the hands of others. And perhaps someday I’ll get over my camera-shyness, (probably in the same year that I stop dying my hair and let it all go to white). But, I am not there yet, and today is not the time to start, I’ve been sick forever and I look like hell. (Though I laughed at this photo of this queen, because in truth, that’s how I have felt and probably looked for much of the last two months, flat out on my back with a miserable look on my face.)

And I realized, as I was searching, that in truth, my poetry reveals more of me than any photo ever could. Each one contains at least a tiny piece of me, and many others are full-blown portraits. So I offer to you a favorite from April, a word-selfie, and hope that this will do:

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sixpence and jabberwocky

i want to pull an alice and dive into a mirror
surely life looks different from the other side

backwards and cockeyed and filtered through
lint left on the surface or smudges stamped
by florid fingerprints and the brittle bones
of everyone who’s ever touched you

always lit like a window in an opulent dream
this place where everyone wears dresses
and no one ever thinks to ask your name
loneliness is a hamper and heartache
is eternally for breakfast, served over easy

with tea, of course

i want to talk to prepubescent butterflies
smoking peace and posturing philosophy
aces and spades kings and queens grinning cats
roses that bloom and bleed and bloom again
always late all this hate always late

shadows are made from silence turned sideways
and music is the way your mouth moves
time is a harness on the horse of hardship
dragging hard on the carriage of comfort

and i am the queen who wants to be whole
but no one hears me in here, knocking

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