christmas lights

Wayward Writers’ Zoom
December 17, 2020

christmas lightsUnconfirmed

Her death was unconfirmed, like the weather and sports winners – you never know what you’re going to get. Confirmation is the tragedy because before the confirmation you are allowed hope. 

After years of waiting hope is an albatross. A lodestone that is not good at finding true north. A swansong. Hope is a thing with wings, and blood beating in the ears. Blood pouring on the rocks. Into the water. Blood the color of rust and carnations and firetrucks and cheap fingernail polish – spilled on different mediums it takes on their appearance – here glossy, there speckled with dirt and tiny rocks. 

Confirmation gives a modicum of respite. Even bad news is better than no news at the end of the day. Confirmation leads to closure leads to what amounts to moving on. The days are long and the nights are longer and there is no lack of darkness. Hope is a thing with wings. Sooner or later, it flies away.


This season
is a fabrication
but light in the darkness
never was a bad idea
so we come together
a million little lights 
in darkest nights 

the street that links the apartments
I am splitting my time between
(yes, that’s a longer story)
is lined with christmas lights
and trees decked out with ribbons
and i am reminded of
the awe my little brother used to feel 
all the lights shining

we don’t talk anymore


New Year’s Eve Writings, 2020/2021 – Wayward Writers Zoom


Prompt Two: Things You Can’t Fit in a Basket – Seven Minutes

As the Sufi saying goes the only things that are truly yours are the things you don’t lose in a shipwreck. the things I can’t fit in a basket are sunset and dreams and plans – a million wildflowers in super bloom – the hills are washed crimson, almost like blood poured, silky poppies waving against ochre dirt and a brilliantly blue sky – like the firey orange red and the blues can’t quit coexist at that meter – they fight for dominance, almost ugly in the overwhelm 

the things I can’t fit in this basket are hope and fortitude – these things dwell in my heart and body – the sufi saying echoes – the name of god in my heart beat, clanging against my ribcage like a bird aching for release – each beat an echo of things to come – the future is written in sand – the sand of a million tibetan sand paintings – painstaking and temporary – my flesh disperses in the breeze that blows the sand – these moments of transmutation are a gift 


Prompt Three: A Wish or a Hope – Five Minutes

a wish for the coming year
can feel prosaic
but old times passing
sometimes call for 
a bit of that

the passing of time 
things moving on
I am hopeful
that I will find my way

I am hopeful that 
we will gather 
in these liminal spaces
as we are able
and we will grow 
tree like 
reaching for what light there is

we will grow
and change
and the artifice 
fall away

this is the clarion call 
hearkening to a 
new aeon 

or is it the the same old 
where the apocalypse
another layer 
of doubt?

we live
and grow
and reach for what light there is
reaching for the golden sun
reaching for tomorrow 
reaching for the wildness

uncovered in the 
dark night 
brimming with nightmares
we grow

roots deep in the soil
soul stretched
and yawning
we reach for this
reach for this
new day

I stand on hope
I dream on hope
I grow with hope


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