day twenty-two

Fall Break Starts Tomorrow
I move to paper,
for essay and poetry.
Updates on Tuesday.

day twenty-one

Wednesday Haiku
Shoes squeak down the hall,
glasses fog, worms flood sidewalks.
It's raining outside.

day twenty

Irvington Haiku
Waltz through tree-lined streets,
promised smiles, conversation.
To Starbucks - two blocks.

day nineteen

Philosophy
Poetic words are not simply put,
chosen because they fit the page.
They are carefully carved
from the sands of history and sound,
etched in some egyptian parchment,
or laid out like a vast mosaic
stretching across a museum floor.
There is no glory only in swiftness,
or a careless line scrawled on lined paper,
there is beauty found in rhythm
though it takes one hundred years
to form the meter and rhyme.
Even without boundaries of form,
the lyrics must move and convey
a sense of time, a response of heart,
though unknown and uncategorized
and undefinable, a humanity.

day eighteen

Popcorn
wait two and a half
for the hot, handy snack
perfect for throwing
at unruly friends or
catching in your mouth,
leisurely picking up one piece
for each page read or
grabbing whole handfuls
of buttery goodness.
the indians could not have given
the pilgrims a better gift.

day seventeen

To Live
I sigh and grow older,
not in the fearful or pitiful
or sad way of someone
who never thought to leave
home until it was too late,
but in the satisfied, passionate manner
of someone who has truly lived,
worked hard at something,
breathed in deeply the sea air,
felt the sand between their toes
even days after returning to the city,
admired the design of a rose,
kissed their children goodnight,
fell asleep to the sound of your voice,
and loved their Savior and neighbor
from a place of calm within the storm.

day sixteen

Luminary
Walking through a forest
of lights in paper bags
lining the path toward home,
I felt the silence and peace
cast by the symbols of joy,
reflections of the full moon.
I wanted to dance, to walk
always with the lights
on either side of my feet.
And then the disillusionment
of the return journey,
where the feet after me
caused destruction, not light,
darkness, not the hope
of a steady tread through
the luminous line of trees,
snuffing out every candle
with a swift kick and a sudden stomp.

day fifteen

I Speak
I cannot open my mouth
or all the words will spill out.
I bite my lip to keep the cries inside,
the images shouting at me to speak.

One day I am young,
then so old the next.

Clothes made the year I was born
are back in vogue and worn
by the girls walking by me - unaware
that I want to know - to see - to speak.

One day I am young,
then so old the next.

She sighs throughout the day,
not living, just regretting the way
she fails to live, wasting another hour
in the sarcasm and bitterness she speaks.

One day I am young,
then so old the next.

I sit, crouched like a tiger in a tree,
waiting for theology to walk under me,
something I can sink my teeth into
or at least something I'm not afraid to speak.

day fourteen

Today
I'm not the girl I once was.
I'm not the girl I was three years ago.
I'm not the girl I was as a freshman.
I'm not the girl I was last fall.
I'm not the girl I was yesterday.
I am completely different
[but built on more of the same].

Whoever thought I would find
myself in Hillsdale, Michigan?
[and not just living here. find
more of who i actually am]
Whoever thought that this place
would be home? [after i swore it wouldn't be]
Whoever thought that the real answer
was me being at home with myself:
my life - my faith - my world?
Whoever thought that from now on,
I'll carry home with me, wherever I go.

If you had told me before,
I never would have believed it.
Nevertheless, now - here - today,
I'm not the girl I once was.

day thirteen

College
My hands smell like laughter,
the sound of good friends
echoes in my ears, and I
remember conversation in the dark.
Sitting at the top of the hill
viewing the whole world: the earth -
the trees - the water - the sky.
Tasting the sweet fire of a crisp fall night,
a moment of bliss which cushions
the fall back to reality and homework.

day twelve

Thank You, Ansel Adams
Clearing Winter Storm,
Half Dome, Sand Dunes at Sunrise.
He captured the West.

day eleven

City Love
Do you have any change?
Not today, I lied,
and kept on walking.
God bless - he rolled away
down the hill, as I traveled up.
He didn't have legs,
but I did - I'd give anything
for the ability to change.
To be lied to - like that -
hundreds of times a day,
can that smile be sincere?
(I get discouraged when I can't find
my favorite shoes in an overstuffed closet)
We're all poor and homeless
missing legs - arms - souls.