Tag Archives: transformation

best parts

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a talent for transforming
abandoned scrap
to idiosyncratic treasure
she resuscitates discards
peopled shells remodeled
her own skin as patch
her heart stripped down
not spare
still offered in parts

April 2015
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 7

 

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Quickening

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Scuff mark
hieroglyphics
on the bedroom floor
read absence
read violent removal
read lost

Chambers full
of things deemed precious
all items viewed necessary
for the journey on
now broken trophies
fodder for archeologists

Were the right treasures
loaded in
the binding strips
properly anointed
to ensure a safe tethering
through time

For the sweet prince
pursued by darkness
despite the suns etched
into every wall
hearts have been preserved in stoneware
at the ready for the promised awakening

February 2015
Julie Ayers

On The Deep Field View

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The final insult
is you don’t even get to schedule
your nervous breakdown,
like an oil change
or lawn aeration.
It simply arrives one day,
determinedly.
The mortar gone,
stones fall
in a symphony of thuds,
wounding those who’d sheltered
in your steadier configuration.

If glaciers are powerless
to stand unaltered by
a climate in change,
what hubris you harbor
by believing
you can remain ever
solid and unbroken
or elect the time and form
for transformation.

Oh, if only we possessed
the fortitude to surrender
to the inevitability
of wild tumble
at moments most inopportune!
Something new
can always be constructed.

We are not doomed.
We remain,
infinite,
the descendants
of dust from distant light.
Our next progression
may prove even more beautiful
than the last.

 

April 4, 2014
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 4

 

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Tell The Wolves

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What made the base of her back
the perfect spot for his hand
a comfortable match
of palm to vertebra

Her neck
formed
just so his chin
could tuck snug
rest
in the curtain of her
hair

Their thoughts
and wants
and needs
aligned
much like hips
centered
certain

So let the wolves howl

Even if revealed
to be merely feral dogs
altered by this darkness
into grander forms
they are no less

Wolves

She is no less
home

The girl

The girl
who felt like home

 

February 2014
Julie Ayers

Peculiar Vanities

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I will lay myself bare in front of you
strip the skin away from muscle
turn my spine to bed for flowers
roll in the shallow
cicada larvae my only adornment

peculiar vanities
fretting over the spidery purple spread of veins
across legs long ruined with fists full of cigarette paper scars
trolling for topical cures
when the real monsters are gnawing deep on bones and myelin

dancing myself back to life
week after week
chasing alternative endings

hubris

age, infirmity, disease
life so sharp
it ribbons me to words

white flags don’t flatter my coloring
I’m a winter
burning red

I’ll samba on the frontline
shake it
with or without a doctor’s note
until the flowers
consume every cell

then I’ll sing
shout with the wind
rattle the trees
so you never forget

become your springtime
© Julie Ayers
June 2012