Beads

Before I write my newspaper article, I must center myself. I'm counting the beads that my cousin in Viet Nam gave me and as always it gives me serenity. I sat in the room with my friend yesterday and spoke for hours.... it was healing. I thought I would be a bit of a mess today, as I usually am, but I'm actually not. Climbing up to the threshold of finding oneself is definitely some kind of miracle that makes all the bad not as bad as it would've been at another place and time. I'm centered... and miraculously ok. I spoke... and listened to the cycles of mistakes I keep making... listened to how humans I sounded... how human she sounded and at the end of the day we were both ok with it. Maybe I should get back to being productive today though...... do I have poem in me?


Stretch.... resistance
Crack of my fingers
Crack of dawn
Release estrogen
Down my spine
Pull it back
Burst it open...
Narrow potholes
keep in going
Through storms
recycled
Through words
mislabeled
Faults mistook
for mistakes
Deliberative
Air filled
into the joints of achy fingers
clogged in the arteries leading
to my heart
so the message isn't sent there
for me to compile more mistakes there.

I think only I understand my crazy 2 minute, out of the blue poems.