Autumn Settles into My Veins

Autumn settles into my veins/the smell of bonfires and burning leaves filling my lungs/the scent twirling through my bronchi/multi-hued leaves in oranges, reds, yellows dance around my legs/and brush against my arms/twisted in my hair/early morning fog draped over everything like a sheet/the slight, chilly damp pressed against my skin/and long, crooked shadows moving eerily, shifting ominously in the wind/the night sky clear most nights/the stars crips against the deep indigo/almost like the sodium glare has disappeared/and the cold air presses against me/until I bundle up in a warm sweater/my fingers warmed by hot cocoa/a fire burning in the fireplace/flickering white, yellow, blue/the light dancing against the brickwork/fingers grazing over pumpkins/nails scratching over the texture/feeling for the remnants of the souls left over beneath their skin/picking apples at an orchard/my feet sinking into the dirt and grass/brushing leaves away to pull apples from branches/grazing the rough bark/enjoying the fleeting, short days/watching the sun set behind the horizon/thin clouds cutting across the bright yellow orb/the sky strangely bluer than in summer

Autumn settles into my veins/pumpkin covered hands/cider and cocoa running in my veins/nutty and bonfire scented air in my lungs/with autumn leaves tangled in my hair/bark under my nails/early morning mist draped over my shoulders/fading stars dancing into constellations on my skin/and I settle into the season with joy

 

Life begins and ends at the foothills of the Pyrenees

In small provincial towns, whose stone buildings have orange hued roof tiles/large, loud conversations over coffee and cigarettes on the terrace of a café/next to a wide, slow-moving river that runs beneath bridges, a lone house at its edge and expansive lowlands/with grape vines climbing dusty cliffs, holding together stone and earth/where mountain and sea meet, made hazy in the distance by brine and sea air/where my soul expands, full of peace and joy/in the frozen moments of my childhood summers, changed and warped by time and age/where history meets present beneath pale blue skies and the shadows of the mountains/where the haunting calls of the sirens, echoing off the distant mountains, who live in the sea, and the bone deep ache for the mountains fall silent/in the shadows of the mountains, stretching to the edges of the sea/while eating mussels and drinking wine under a pure blue sky, the shellfish fresh and the wine refreshing/the ghost of my first love lingering at the edges of my mind/where time ceases to exist beyond the rising and setting of the sun/with the sea and the mountains colored by the sunrise and sunset/and the blood red full moons streaking across the sea are always breathtaking/with cicadas whirring away at night/where open air markets fill the streets every day; bright red tomatoes, multi-hued peppers, fragrant melons, dark avocados and eggplants; farm-fresh brown eggs; food trucks where the smells of mouth-watering food come from; dried salamis and sausages; rotisserie chickens, skin brown and crispy; bright, vibrant flowers and plants/where you can see all the constellations in the endless night sky, almost completely unaffected by the sodium glare of major cities.

Life forever begins and ends in the foothills of the Pyrenees, the place that has forever settled in my bones, where earth and sea meet the sky, with an eternal beauty, a place my soul will always long for.

the forest holds unseen things

the bones of long-forgotten beings/secrets buried in the dirt below the trees and plants and moss/ancient songs whose words have disappeared, their echoes faded away; the words are now long-forgotten/ the spirits of old; witches who once resided in the forest; tree sprites/the Old Gods, who have resided here since the dawn of time/the haunting calls of owls hidden away/angels and demons and lost souls finding their way to River Styx/the thinned veil between this world and the next/bits and pieces of a bygone era/hallowed walls of an ancient church, its stones wrapped by ivy and covered by moss/my escaped soul the moment I step off the path/the yearning to live among the trees and herbs and animals that comes of out nowhere/the whispers among the trees of incantations and spells, stories forgotten/a breeze, stirring leaves and petals and feathers; breathing life through the forest/a breath, a heart, a broken dream lingering among the branches/spider webs covered in drops of water high in the branches; they remain untouched/a hunger, a yearning, for someone new to get lost among the trees; leading someone to the veil between the worlds/the eternally wandering, the damned, the restless, the hopeless.

the forest hides unseen things that she will forever hang on to, like secrets long lost...

They ask me why I still watch a losing hockey team

It's because I still have hope something will change/Because of my

grandfather's love for this team/For my love of our netminders who

make beautiful, sprawling saves/Because they're playoff streak was older

than me until I was 25/The fights that happen at least once a

game/Because they are an Original Six team/Because I fall in love with a

different player each season/Because I have spent my whole life

watching this team/Because it's the home team/Because the love of your

team never diminishes, even when they are in a losing streak.

I am more than the storm

I am the hurricane raging over the ocean/The tidal wave crashing over everything in my path/A tornado devastating the land around me/The lightning bolt setting a tree on fire/The wildfire hungrily eating away at hundreds of miles of forest and woodlands/The angry tremors of an earthquake/The roaring eruption of a long-dormant volcano/The never-ending gale of Lake Superior that sinks ships mercilessly/The sheer terror of being hunted/The eerie silence after a snowstorm/The howling wind of a storm dark sky/The riptide that strikes cold-drenched terror into hearts/The darkest of nights/The days-long downpour that causes destruction by flooded rivers and lakes/The mudslide that eats away at everything in my path.

I am more than the storm. I am the devastating destruction that devours the whole world.

Shit I Wish I Knew

How far space goes/It’s always expanding; will anyone ever know?/The names of all the constellations (I could look them up)?/How to keep plants alive/How to get over losing someone/The pain of losing someone you love never goes away/How to be brave/Who I really am/But we are always evolving; is there truly a real me?/How to forget you/To erase the memories of you from my mind, my limbs/How to remove the words and lines of poetry you left on my skin/How to let go/Accepting myself/How to follow my passion fearlessly/How to change the oil in my car/How the hell bees fly (they’re not so aerodynamic)/How my brain can hold on to useless trivia I learned six years ago, but can’t remember an important conversation from two days ago, or where I put my keys/How to forget the best books I’ve read so I can read them for the first time again/Where I lose all my pens; I wouldn’t have to keep buying more/How to end this hungry desire for your touch; it’s the dull ache in my chest that won’t ever go/What happens when I die; I wonder if my spirit will roam and wander, or if there is a final resting place/How black holes work/How the boundless depths of the ocean can hold so much life; there is no light at the bottom of the ocean, so much pressure/The endless hours of sleepless nights.

An Incomplete list of Things I’ll Fall in Love With

The first chapter of a new book/A line from new poems I write/A random photo I’ll take this summer/The sprawling save of my favorite netminder at the end of the hockey season/A new place to explore on a long weekend/The poem of an Instagram poet I follow/My bed after a late night/A new notebook that I will never use/A new TV show on Netflix that I will binge over and over again/A song I forgot I had on my playlist that will be played on repeat/An obscure podcast that I’ll listen to from start to finish over a weekend/The shape of a new tattoo/The ghost of a lover that will linger for months/The words of someone that will lead me to the unknown/The dying ashes of a fire/Another beach at the edge of the world, collecting grains of its sand in a bottle/Sex on a full moon/Poetry burned on my skin by the lips of someone I will sleep with.

An Ode to Things I Hold On To

Fortune cookie fortunes in my wallet, promising something different, more hopeful

Half-filled notebooks of poems, short stories, random thoughts, and doodles

Books stacked in corners, worn and well-read, dog-eared, fingerprints on random pages

Gum wrappers at the bottom of my bag, with cities I want to visit written on them

Tarot cards spilled out on the floor from the box, some folded or bent

Hotel room keys in my wallet, taking up room for no reason other than to show I was somewhere else

An empty sachet of seeds opened with a list of random dates written on the inside

Broken earbuds and phone chargers all tangled together, unused for years

Faded pictures, all bent corners and frozen memories from the past

Postcards in a box, a map of places I have been, some mailed to me with scribbled “Wish you were here”

Posters on my wall, taped at the corners, the edges ragged and ripped

Sand in a bottle from a distant beach, filled with memories between the grains

Friendship bracelets, frayed and broken, faded colors collected on top of my dresser

Change filled in my cup holder, copper pennies and silver quarters, dollar bills folded over

Candles lining my bedside table, barely used, burnt wicks, waiting to be used again

Crystals littering empty spaces and corners, ready to decorate, glittering in the sodium glare of my overhead light

Vision boards covered in my dreams, things I want for myself in the future

Random keys I have no use for, brass and silver, tarnished and covered in rust

Broken bits of ocean glass and seashells, pale green, pinks, and white, from a restless ocean

Moss covered branches in a terrarium littered with dirt and dead leaves

Old diaries from different chapters of my life, stacked away in my bookshelf

Pine cones, dried out from sitting in the sunshine, lining a shelf, nature brought inside

Old band t-shirts, spotted by bleach, holes at the seams, tattered by love

Brine and Rosemary

I wake up to brine and rosemary in my throat

And I remember the honey taste of figs, the syrupy sweetness of an overripe, heavy fig; salty-sweet taste of a mussel in a white wine sauce; warm, flaky, buttery pastries with melted chocolate centers; bittersweet coffee ice cream in a waffle cone, with a chocolate crusted coffee bean on top.

And I remember the silvery smell of lavender, hidden beneath the brine of the sea; sun-warmed, dusty tomatoes and sweet peaches; the dusty dirt road stretching seemingly endless; bitter coffee steaming in a mug; melted butter popping on the stove top, garlic and bay leaves wilting in it.

And I remember the waves crashing against the beach; the loud voices and hustle of the open air markets; the loud, boisterous conversations over cups of coffee; cicadas whirring into the evenings; warm breezes whispering through the tree leaves; gravel crunching under wandering feet.

And I remember the sea cradling me in her cool embrace; the salt crusting in my hair, even after being washed; the sun warming my shoulders as it darkens my skin; warm sand between my toes; the peace of being between sea and mountains, the two places on earth I love the most. 

I wake up with brine and rosemary in my throat

And I remember the best place in the world; the memories drifting slow through my mind, soft and faded; the shapes and colors sharpening and brightening from a fog; scents and tastes accosting my senses with a vengeance; blunted shapes of mountains floating in a blank space; the crash of waves roaring in my ears… 

And the yearning to return burns in my veins, like flames coursing through my body, the ocean pulling at my heartstrings, an ache in my bones that will only be eased upon return.