writer, storyteller, veteran (see MaxieJaneFrazier.com for more)
Striving towards making sense of the world
How do I know what a poem should be?
Poems are secrets opened with
Careful, surgeon’s fingers,
Revealing the beating heart beneath.
Poems point a finger at me,
And at you,
Truths peeling back our armor.
Poems slips knives between
Our ribs,
Sharp with life-threatening pain.
Poems are prescriptions,
Lenses opening our eyes,
World suddenly new.
XCI
Some know they are best by birth, some in talent,
Some in their dripping diamonds, some in physical prowess,
Some wear designers although they are bougie spent;
Some in their phones and purses, some in their cars caress;
And every distraction has some representative pleasure,
Joy its owner’s purview:
But these particulars are not my measure,
I eschew all these for only you.
Your laughing eyes and love outrank all riches,
You are my wealth, you dress me in finest adoration
Of more delight than things your love bewitches;
And having you, I relinquish all causation:
One power above all is yours to take
Away your bewitching love, and me most wretched make.
(inspired by Joy Harjo’s “She Had Some Horses,” resurrected for NaPoWriMo prompt)
(Thank you Na/GloPoWriMo for featuring my poem on Day Twenty-Seven of NaPoWriMo 2019)
She wore armor
She wore armor over her beating heart
She wore armor over her pendulous breasts
She wore armor over her curving hips
She wore armor over her mound of flesh.
She wore armor
She wore armor over her good ideas
She wore armor over her strong hands.
She wore armor over her written words
She wore armor over her selfless service
She wore armor.
She wore armor over the cold space in their bed
She wore armor over the spoken wounds
She wore armor over the indifference
She wore armor over the goodbye
She wore armor.
She wore armor when her husband left
She wore armor on the morning metro
She wore armor at her Pentagon desk
She wore armor in her smile.
She wore armor
Her armor shifted under his gaze.
Her armor protested under his hands
Her armor groaned under his kiss
Her armor cracked under his weight
She unfasrened her armor.
Where are the silences of snow?
Squelching in the remnants
Duck paddling in the meadow,
Now morning cacophony of birdsong.
Already distant are the early
Squeaking of so-cold snow
The sun a struggling idea
Behind cocooned mountains
Sometimes the dogs would leap
And disappear
In powdery white highs
Charged with the changing landscape.
Coffee steaming in both hands
Layers and a hat, guarding their joy
One crow, I hear the feathers rustling
His individual wingbeats.
