Tag Archives: relationships

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Life will do what it does
lull us
then toss us airborne
to plunge untethered

Her blond head on the hospital pillow
as she wanders out of our reach
her mother, bedside
calling her home

Another’s cells gone rogue
…the sort through treatment options
decisions to make that alter
marking what now becomes
a time before
a time after

The one keeping to quiet corners
having walked another
beloved to the final
beat of his limitless heart

I’m surrounded by heroes
in the grocery store
who have suffered greatly
but still buy strawberry jam
and avocados
bake pies and grill corn

They have shown grace
and disintegrated in fear and grief
alternately
bedpans have been thrown
fingers laced gently
regrettable words spilled
mopped up later
or later still
or never

We stand firm
lay prone in puddles
get back up
repeat
repeat

This is the only way
Dark and beautiful

July 2017

 

 

Racked

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You know how if you care about someone and they don’t like dill,
you try to avoid making anything that might require dill?
To please them, you will purge your life of dill.
You go so far, work to stay so pure of dill,
that even when you are not with them you still eschew dill.
But maybe you really love dill.
Maybe your favorite seasoning of all time is dill,
but you believe you love them more, so you shun dill.
After all, no question, right? People before dill.
And then, one day, they leave your life and suddenly dill
can return and you think, “Wow, I actually prefer dill.”

April 2015
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 20

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How long has it been
since you were uncertain
about which was the gas
rather than the brake?

Or how you should start out,
every time,
with foot firmly creating
a deliberate stillness
before initiating motion?

About giving yourself plenty of time
to check in every direction
before moving forward or back?

We too often fail
to note our lethal potential,
rash and over-confident

as we are with benign experience.

 

April 2015
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 13

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First (Unmoored)

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Much better, she said,

Everything is on an upswing.

I feel almost normal,

Whatever that means.

It had gotten to the point

Where it felt like my body

Was just splitting apart.

My limbs felt like they might

Float away,

So I dropped anchor

While there was something 

Remaining.

Tethered myself to the wood 

Of the first sturdy dock.

I was still on surging water

But moored in a cove of

Love and promise

While oceans of existences

Flooded beneath the floor boards.

He’s an attorney

Who writes music

For big-shots in Nashville.

He usually brings the beer.

“I mean, when you have troops

Of people walking around 

Losing their religions

In hollowed out cores” she said.

But he wasn’t paying attention,

So she dug out 

The McCormick spice container

She’d hidden on her closet shelf.

A home for two, thick Blue Dream  joints,

A gift from her friends in Colorado.

Lit one, she sucked in smoke, potent and potion,

Breathed in blue dreams, streams and steaming

Lassitudes, masses, boxes and volumes, and air,

Assumed forms of light.

And her eyelids drooped

And her breathing slowed.

She was having none of that.

March 2015

Exquisite Corpse Poem

Zombie  Salon members: Andrew, Anne, Julie, Tricia

A Slow Drift

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The snow hid things
the tracks to my window erased
as the hearts we traced
into the dust on the sill
days when the wind scoured our faces
until they were pink and smooth
as unchewed gum balls

Now for warmth
only the patchwork quilt
made from old T-shirts
the bands we’d both loved
or pretended to love
for the sake of the other
lies that matched the snow
and covered us in dust
that made everything
beautiful in the moment
before drifting away

January 2015
Exquisite Corpse Poem
Zombie Salon Members – Andrew, Julie, Tricia

On Risk & Acceptance

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what I want for you
is to find that place of acceptance

you will know when you arrive
as it will be filled
with the kind of people
who meet you on your ideal plane
they will wrap you in their arms
if you are one who blossoms
when giving and receiving hugs
they will sit quietly by your side
engaging in an unhurried exchange
of speaking and being heard
their love will be unconditional
you treasured as the imperfect
but well-intentioned traveler you are

you must never stop looking
for this place
it exists for you
you will find it

to get there
you need to take risks
accept that you are worthy of love
as your most authentic and unmasked self

you must fearlessly open your heart
unbox everything
and lay it on the grass
a yard sale of all your apprehensions
each ambition and catastrophic failure
your most impossible desires
set it in the light
that which you consider junk and prize
all of it is treasure
of value and great significance

trust those who stop to look
who pick up this piece and that
ask for an accounting
and you in turn
must reverently visit their displays
reach out gently
and help them sort their offerings
see the beauty in every frayed seam
and roughly drawn portrait

stop hiding from your own peace
there will never be a shortage of painful things
that happen for no good reason
you will lose people
you will see and experience
nearly unbearable suffering
you will be torn asunder
and healed
and broken again

this is always the journey

you are capable of more
than just surviving
if you cultivate acceptance
for our gorgeous but flawed natures

look for your people to love
you will find them everywhere
risk loving them
risk more
by allowing them
to love your most genuine self back

November 2014
Julie Ayers

You Can’t Park There

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“You can’t park there,”
she yells from the window,
the top of her head
wrapped in a blue towel
as she’s just finished
shampooing her thick crown
in the kitchen sink.

She can’t abide
her long hair freed,
eddying down
over bare skin
to become trapped anew
in every fold,
catching on hip bones,
turning to an irritation
of itch an hour later.

She prefers to steep in baths
or wear a plastic cap
when forced to shortcut
her grooming,
endure the disorder
of a shower.

Every errant hair contained.
Each auto directed,
its angle apportioned,
she reigns,
unqualified dominion
over lonesome house
near water’s edge.

If only once,
she’d leap,
submerge fully
without a cap,
let the rain drench
every misaligned hair on her head,
umbrella holstered,
permit cars to scatter
willy-nilly across the drive,
would she still be,
or possibly be even more?

November 2014
Julie Ayers