eeyore_grrl: (2016/17)

  	       i am from	
(the hudson, part I)	

i am from a city on the hudson 
          trees envy me
  because i walk with the legs they dream of

this river is like sap in my veins
   rooting me
                  to this land
   touching me
                 with beauty
    chaining me
                 with invisible threads

my prayers go out to the river
dropping like child thrown pebbles
       and then forgotten
               as waves devour the ripples
                      of my concern

i envy the trees the simplicity
     of their capture
  they need the land until death calls
  there is no question
                               only dreams

i have the possibility of distancing myself
   the physical        foot     follows    foot    ability

but my roots dig far into this soil
clenching at bedrock
refusing to give me wings


	           (the hudson, part II)

the problem with poetry is that
						the truth changes
there was a time i wrote about the hudson
				 and how it was the blood in my veins	
						how i couldn’t leave its banks
						how it held me there

it was truth
i ricocheted 
				away and back
ebbing and flowing like its tides

it           was           truth
but my truth has changed 
				i have aged and moved
						i am 3000 miles distant
and cannot go back

what was once life-sustaining
				feels more like poison
				tainting me still
				breaking down my shores and sanity
						breaking down myself

this is my truth
i haven’t lied
it’s just that 			the truth
						is tidal

		this is home
           	      (the hudson, part III)

my toes feel that they are made of ice
	crystalised, cold
they reach into unstable bedrock
		avoiding faults
		avoiding fault
this is a new home
	a new place to be and grow
my roots are shallow
		my toes clutch the riverbank 3000 miles away, still
	but here i have planted myself
 like a flag
	i have chosen to call home 
	i grow and
	i have planted new seeds
			a new life

my son only knows of the hudson river through stories
					    through maps 
					    through pictures on the internet
he doesn’t know about tidal estuaries 
	and the indescribable beauty of my river on a late september day
		when the reds and oranges look like fire and life across the mountain side
	he doesn’t know 
		what it’s like to shovel driveways and slide on ice
	he doesn’t know the endless grey of winter
			when the sun is nothing but a figment
		or the joy of warming weather in the spring
			the first flowers green and delicate poking through the thawing ground

my childhood river is a fairytale
	a story told when i want him to learn something
	morality tales and dragons

		my past is only a storybook setting
		and silicon valley is so real
			where water comes in waves of drought
			rivers the size of creeks on a good day
				fade into fossils
					just memories of what was
		his home is here
	we are planting his roots deep
		finding nourishment and bedrock
		growing down past the moving plates of earth
		reaching for its molten core
	this is home
		the hudson only a shadow in my blood
this is home
	i sing of the ocean
			and water the trees

This poem is written as a triptych, a single poem built in three parts. In this case the poems can be used separately, but form a much fuller picture with all three taken together. In honesty I will tell you that the first two were written long ago (the first being over 12 years ago, when I still lived in New York). If, for the LiveJournal Idol game you feel that I should only be judged on *new* work, feel free to vote for (or not) the last poem. That is new and shiny. Also, it's hard to record a 5 minute poem!


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September 2017



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