Snow globes

My Grandmother gave me four snow globes over the course of four winters

Each has a place on my shelf, frozen in time

When I look at them I am reminded of my Grandmother’s love, of that beating heart that gave it’s own blood to bear four children.

Each snow globe holds a lesson

One contains tropical fish swimming over ceramic coral; it reminds me to stay fluid, to keep moving forward in the face of obstacles

Another houses a castle; it reminds me to stay strong, stand firm and feel at home in my body

The third encases a wizard; it reminds me to stay open to the magic of the present moment

The fourth has a family of panda bears in it; it reminds me that I am connected to all living things

I used to have a fifth snow globe which contained a unicorn; it was smashed when I left it unattended, reminding me to take care of what I have

Sometimes I think about giving my snow globes away

They could have a new life and brighten a child’s day

For now, they stay

My Body

My body is a dustbin

Collecting what is forgotten and broken

The overlooked and the rejected

Are welcome within my walls

My body is a minefield

Ready to go off

Touch me anywhere

You’ll trigger trauma everywhere

My body is a row of dominoes

I line myself up

Only to watch myself fall down under the slightest stress

Finding myself again in the middle of a mess

I want to ask my heroin addict sister

If our mother did to her what our mother did to me at night

If my sister experienced similar humiliation and violation

If she felt God-forsaken hour after hour awakened

Torn between nightmares and the horror of real life

I wish I had drugs, prescription or illicit, to help me survive this pain that is always by my side, a balm for this immortal mortal wound

Ever the warrior, I muscle through on my own

Only when I am alone do I feel almost safe

I cry and say the words I didn’t say

Feel the loss of the one who got away

My body is an international currency used to bargain, barter and beg

My body speaks a universal language, from my hair to my legs

I have forged deals in the most unlikely of places

I always felt underpaid

Time after time I find the perfect storm, my shelter so that I can disempower myself, disown my sadness, illustrate it through external circumstances

I thank my pain- my loving protector

I thank my body- my stage and specter

Fleeting

Where do ideas come from?
When I get inspired it feels like an itch
Irresistible to scratch but if I don’t promptly act…

Where do ideas go?
Sometimes I get a flash of what appear to be                                                                 profound, brilliant, and wildly creative thoughts                                                                       Just as quickly,  they vanish into thin air
Faster than ice evaporates on a hot day                                                                                 Before I can write them down, they’ve already gone on their way

My brain is beaten down by sleep deprivation and stress
So it makes sense
That it would hold thoughts
As efficiently as a sieve holds water

Still I wonder
Where do ideas come from,
And where do they go?
As they disappear through the door of my conscious mind,
I want to say to them, ‘Thank you, come again’