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Wednesday, January 18, 2023

Fine, Not Fine...

 
—Poetry by Julie A. Dickson, Exeter, NH
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Julie A. Dickson
 
 
 
Fine, not fine…

How much is there to give
when I receive even less—
no blood left in this stone

When I am alone, untended,
I think of times when I sat
reading a book for hours

when I had not many worries
I was careful then, not to provoke
father’s anger or even awareness

Now that I am independent,
I am my own caretaker
There is no one else here

no one like my mother
when she asked how I was
and I lied and said I was fine
 
 
 

 

Boiling Water

Before ant traps, poison, or other means,
Mother boiled water, carried the steaming pot
outside to the unsuspecting ant hill. To my horror

scalded, and dead ants would float away in rivulets
from the sandy pile, my mother defensively said  
“too many ants in the world”.  In my child’s dreams

I heard them crying, lost brothers and sisters lying
dead on our driveway, survivors carrying their dead
in a funeral procession. They say ants are intelligent.

I doubt boiling water was any more humane than today’s
pesticides or ant traps. In dreams, I feel scalding water hit
my skin and wake suddenly is if I were one of those ants.
 
 
 
 


The scream

pierced silence like an ice pick,
stabbed me in the ears until my
hands flew up to cover them.

Now I know why they call it
blood-curdling, though my ears
were not actually bleeding but

goose-flesh covered arms still
raised, hands to ears, I felt fear
run through my veins like ice.
 
 
 
Bipolar
 

How many times

have you called
in darkness
dragging me
from sleep
groggy hello

to your manic
tirades
your repeated
escapades
clothes thrown on
bleary-eyed drive
to wherever
 
up for hours
cross-legged
watching you fidget
speed-talking
unable
to relax
 
I stay awake
until dawn when
finally
you wind down
crashed
under my afghan
 
I crawl back
to my bed
lying awake
no more sleep for me

I creep back
to your side
lay my hand on
your brow
 
wondering
how
you’ll awake
wired or
deflated

I’ll be there

______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Poetry empowers the simplest of lives to confront the most extreme sorrows with courage, and motivates the mightiest of offices to humbly heed lessons in compassion.
 
―Aberjhani,
Splendid Literarium: A Treasury of Stories, Aphorisms, Poems, and Essays

______________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Julie Dickson for today's fine poetry! Julie first appeared in the Kitchen on 12/11/22.
 
 
 
 Julie A. Dickson











 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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