Tag: Gracie Poetry

ENDLESS SUMMERS

~ graciej311

I recall a summer evening,
when I was much younger.
I’d gone to bed
before the darkness had settled;
a hazy shaft of yellow
seeping through the Strawberry Shortcake curtains
in my bedroom.
The cozy of medium time
between sunset and crickets chirping
their chorus into the black
of Utah sky.

During my adolescent years,
I would sit fingers-crossed
waiting for the phone to ring,
“Game on!”
Frequently, weekends especially,
we would play kick-the-can
at the end of VanBuren Street.
There was a stress-mixed-excitement
darting amongst backyards
and peering through bushes.
A tingly fear of being caught.
My lungs filled with crisp air
as I dashed towards the aluminum cylinder
and struck it so it would cling along the pavement.

About age 14,
we would often roll out sleeping bags
on Nancy’s east facing deck
overlooking the expansive green yard,
and just above the “no dump” hill.
After the giggling and chatter
about latest crushes ceased,
the warmth of gray
would lull us to sleep.

Now the bright lights
drown out starry skies
and I rarely hear crickets,
but recollections
bring back a compilation
of my best memories.

MOTIONED TO QUIVER

~ graciej311

Originally published in Weber State University’s “Metaphor” 1999

Someone I’ve heard
say things before
is looking for me
somewhere.
I see him in a bluish dark,
smoking a joint
doing a French inhale,
looking like the Lone Ranger
but wanting to be more than alone.

He is spontaneity
and long nights under
foreign covers.
He is the element
of surprise
with a serious face
when he wants to be
hidden.

I am longing for him
and
disguising
myself as his princess
that floated out of a dog’s life,
up from reality
to cloud nine.

It all sounds cliche;
princesses and endless love,
yet he squeezes
my hand so firmly
all these words
come pouring out,
and drop on the petals
of an unwatered flower.

REMAIN OBLIVIOUS

~ graciej311

I was genuinely pissed at him
through the majority
of August.
But isn’t that the way
when you have a
burn for someone
and they can’t return it?

My heart jumps
in front of my head.
Just like my fingers
when they type.>>>!#$

If you’re the first one
to make sense of this,
clue me in.
Don’t drop subtle hints.
Make it blatant.
That’s the only way
I can take it.
Raise your hand.
I’ll call on you.
Then you can deliver
the news.

My friends tell me
I should find a publisher
for this garbage.
If you dig through the
bin long enough,
you’ll find it at the bottom.
It’s possible that it belongs
in the incinerator.
Along with thoughts
I had of anything
ever working out
in my favor.

WHERE IT TAKES US

~ graciej311

For Aethea

When we were 14,
we didn’t think about
cancer…
divorce…
or leaving the religion of our youth.

We wore the flowery dresses,
attended the camp meetings,
and ate the morning donuts.
We crossed the street
for daytime seminary
and let God nibble at our hearts.

The rage of teenagedom welled in me,
and I punched you at the party
after the football game.
We collapsed on the curb and sobbed
and talked.
I’d never seen you cry before.
I’d never felt worse and yet,
never better.

I helped you collect bottle caps
from under couches
after the parties,
and drag the chiming bags
to the trash
so your mom wouldn’t know.

We’d spend all our time with Mike,
trekking to and from the college,
to and from class.
Finance 101 was the worst.
We were 18.
We didn’t want to know
about credit card debt
and what life had in store.

We dove into the mud,
covered head-to-toe
champions of volleyball
during homecoming week.
Sheer elation on our faces
in the newspaper picture.

You were always the strong one.
The one who says it like it is
with a middle finger in the air.
Honesty continuously overflowing.
I liked you being the center of attention,
so I could quietly take up a corner.

You helped me carry boxes,
when I was moving
across the state line,
forced to start a different life.

You came to visit,
and met the Prince impersonator.
We shouted about Julius Caesar
when we ate at the feast
and swam in the backyard pool.
I smiled huge.
Something I didn’t think was possible
anymore.

They say we’ve strayed,
and that we’re lost sheep —
that’s why bad things happen.
They’ll tell us bad things happen
to good people too,
that life is a test,
and something better awaits
in some distant eternity.
We should pray more
and recite scriptures from memory.
Make it all better.

I’m used to having words to say.
Something that makes life seem
less harsh,
less real.
Right now,
all I have are these,
and they seem insufficient.

All our memories;
they’re carrying us.
Pushing us forward.
More adventures
and healing await,
regardless of whether
you set foot in a chapel.

My heart swells.
I will grieve by your side,
and help you lift your burdens.

Thea and me

HOW TO SAY IT

~ graciej311

I’m scraping
burnt crust
off the pizza pan.

Wishing the same
were true
for life’s mediocrity.

Tan walls.
Brown floors.
Feelings neither here
nor there.

The current brings us
in and pushes us out,
but I only recognize
back and forth
or around in needless circles.

Take a rag and polish
the moon and sun
for they’ve been dark so long.

Tan walls.
Brown floors.
Tar on my feet.
Jealously swept up
with the starfish and salt.

Back finally broken
from cracks that were
never sealed.

Healing becomes
a metronome of back
and forth.

This record skips at the scratch.

RENAMED GLUTTON

~ graciej311

I don’t know why
I disapprove of this so much.
Out of blackened, seared, ache
come the best words,
tasting like wasabi.
They scorch and will burn,
if I hang onto them too long.
Cry your putrid heart out.
Closed fist
punch the wall.
I’ll smile over this later.
This is a distorted reality,
however.
I’m currently taking self-portraits
red-faced with tears of anger.
I’ve made myself a glutton
and my eating habit
has been thoughts of you
that never materialize
into more than sentences

here

And here

And here.

ADHERENCE

~ graciej311

There are so many rules:
Don’t say you have chubby thighs
in front of your teenager,
Eat your kale and quinoa,
In fact you may as well be vegan,
Put down your smartphone,
but be sure and call your mother daily,
Feign interest in what everyone has to say,
But don’t let all those perfect, blissed-out,
Facebook pictures & vacations impact your mood,
Listen to music,
but not that kind, and not so loud,
it’s bad for your ears and gives you cancer,
A glass or two of red wine
every night is good for your heart,
but then again that makes you an alcoholic,
so don’t drink,
Speaking of drinking,
let’s get together for coffee,
Orangemochafrappuccino,
Mini, non-fat, less than 100 calories,
wait…don’t talk about calories or carbs,
Get to the gym,
but don’t work out too much,
like the 96-pound lady who is there every…single…day,
with the leather-like-too-tan skin,
big hair, and 80s legwarmers,
She’s a weirdo,
looks like she may have an obsession,
with the older gentleman,
Now that you mention it,
date someone who is just the right age,
No one knows what that means,
but it’s part of the rules,
he should be moderately wealthy (at least),
however, if he’s a dick to you,
or if he looks strange when he chews his broccolini,
dump him immediately and date someone else,
It just wasn’t meant to be,
you’ll get over it,
don’t mourn for too long,
nobody likes to be around:

complainers,

downers,

depression,

so happy, happy, happy,
that’s the most important
rule to which you should adhere.

OBSERVATION DECK

~ graciej311

We stopped in Rexburg once,
to get gas
on the drive to Yellowstone.

As we proceeded to the highway,
there were water-skiers
on the pond.

Wyoming was frigid.
We almost lost our way,
the darkness enveloping
with only dim lights
and engine hum to encourage the
press forward.

Pine trees hadn’t regrown
from the burn
years before.
Fires that had turned Utah dusk
into brightness of sunset.

My legs prickled
to the touch
after a morning
around the paint pots.
I had worn shorts in May,
a fool’s mistake.
My skin so cold
it felt hot
and only time blanket-wrapped
was a momentary cure.

I saw a moose
run in the rain.
It trotted along,
soaked fur
and thin body revealed
beneath the majesty
of large antlers.

I wished I could ride Old Faithful
away from existence.

Up
^
Up
^
Up
^
its 130 feet of power
every 94 minutes.
I was stuck as an observer.

THE WANT ADS

~ graciej311

He didn’t like poetry.
“It’s just cat, hat, this and that,”
rhymes — he said.
The crux of the issue though:
he didn’t understand much
about self expression.
His walk seemed laborious,
but he could safely make it
from first to second base.
The color of his eyes
akin to oozy tar
in August.
I used to scan
the wanted section
(back when
people read newspapers).
I figured he might
take out a personal ad.
He wanted a girl who:
didn’t curse,
would watch NFL games,
and who loved to eat
(but never gained weight).
I didn’t tick any of the boxes.
He tore me down a peg
the first time he heard me say,
“Shit!!!”
NFL players are overpaid douches,
and I told him as much.
I gained a “freshman 50”,
just to spite him.
They had 99-cent bottomless fries
at Red Robin,
and I was on a college-girl’s budget.
That situation could never have worked.
Poetry makes more and more sense
all the time.