You sing your caged bird song
a lonely trill that echoes in the hearts of mothers,
with a tug at familiar longings,
but the wisdom of a thousand shattered
fragments of love.
So fly. Go. I will be here to catch you.
Sing your song and find a rhythm that speaks
to you, not one of the many.
If I examine each part of your puzzle I can put it all
together, “I wish we were together…” is everything
today. It is tomorrow that I want to show you.
Adult: fully grown and mature::adult
Physically, mentally, chronologically, how are we
defining the definitions of the words
that tell us what it is to be an adult?
Explain how we are so alike, yet so different.
Daughter of mine, tell me what do you see
through your eyes of green?
Because these old blue eyes are on the verge
of spilling over, knowing.
Today was a day of the normal business that we all go about, getting kids off to school, taking care of sick me and daughter, and ultimately trying to keep myself from spending the day in bed all day. As dinner wrapped up and I settled into my evening routine, my email was sitting their waiting to be checked. Most of the time I don’t enjoy email. It involves a great deal of rejection notes from journals or publishers, bill reminders, appointment reminders, and we can’t forget the spam.
Tonight the email loaded on my screen, and I immediately honed in on the email response from Finishing Line Press. I had submitted my newest collection of poems to them as well as Greywolf Press and Counterpath Press over the last few months. I typically only send to one publisher at a time. When it comes to full length collections, perhaps that is not the most effective way, but there it is. This year was different.
As the year progresses I have struggled with changes in my life situation. Tonight that email was sitting there, taunting me. I felt sure that beyond what I saw on the preview it would say, “Thank you for your submission, but it doesn’t fit our needs at this time.” So, I opened it to finish off the day with another rejection. I was thrilled to read, “Thank you for sending us Moments of Clarity. …We would love to publish your poetry book in our 2017 editions.” I considered waiting to announce this, but decided that I wanted to share the happy news with all of you, now to wait for the contract and see if we are a good fit.
One time you count
and another might
count down the time
to find.
On this side of glass
the faces blur, lines
are reflected
in the headlights.
Equipped with the operator’s
manual it will make security
seem sure. As if you could solve
any problem:
flesh,
steel,
just hide from looking for yourself.
Previous published in Inertia, 2012
for Mighty Mike McGee
Looking for the scrap in a day, a week,
but this one is too small and that one too weary.
Believing that it is possible to trade
now for later, but missing the magic of the present.
I unravel my hair at the end of each day
as a symbolic casting off of all I carry: books, bags,
bookbags, keys, frames of glass to improve my vision.
Clothes to lie to you about who I am and what it is like to be me.
Most of us don’t care what the other is about, but a few with hearts
too big for their chests will love you before knowing you.
Love you for just existing; this makes you a better person.
Because you want to see what they see, what they know you are capable of.
So, is this a lie? Do they know you better than you know yourself?
Picture this, you and me and all we believe that is real.
What color is it? What does this life taste like?
How is the weather?
Previously published in Bare Hands Poetry, Issue 9
I want to fix your algorithm, but all I accomplish
is complicating the mathematics between us.
See, my formula is full of prime numbers,
but you, you want the geometry of my angles to total something odd.
Line brackets up on either side to solve me, but you don’t need to,
you’re sure of the solution.
The product of my variables are chocolate
times the square root of poetry, divided by Prozac.
But all of the numbers don’t tell you, I need a hand on my cheek,
a look that breaks the binary pattern we have set.
Previously published in Contemporary American Voices March 2012 Feature
The summer that:
we went tumbling down the Pemi
more times than I can count,
found comfort in charity bread,
spoke of our future
like we were picking
out constellations —
as if the future held
some magic, a way
to keep the thoughts of
the bottom falling out
held at bay.
When all of the jobs
dried-up, you
helped me sew together
the pieces of my broken spirit.
Having faith in your own
words, in us.
Previously published in The Linnet’s Wings 2012
I have started to write again after a two week break. It has been a challenging couple of years, but I have hope. I refuse to let my illness stop me from accomplishing all that I want to, it just may have to be at a reduced pace. According to many of my friends and family, this will not be a bad thing.
Here is one of the pieces that came out. It is about my struggle with Lyme and my Mema’s struggle battling Lymphoma.
A work in progress…
In these moments before waking there is a stillness
that permeates my senses. It is a sort of meditation
when the critic and the sceptic inside my head have no voice,
as if they haven’t woken yet.
Too long I sit and ponder their moods.
Upon waking I know that these old friends
will swiftly follow. The change is marked
by the increased tension in my mandible.
The possibility of sitting with these two
all day, occasionally drives me back to my pillow.
The soft inhale, exhale of rest. Burrowing
into the soft comfort of dreams.
I dreamt of the cure for all we suffer from,
and we danced in meadows without the pain we have
known for decades. Your hands held mine and we
circled the relief with cackling that carried beyond us.
There was no need to be strong, courageous,
just this. Enjoying the sun on our faces
and the sweet smell of Wisteria in the air.
But as I woke, you were not there,
and I lay in a bed feeling the pressure
of this affliction that confines me.
I have to believe
that dreams keep us from breaking.
I am swallowing my pride, as is needed for my family. Thank you for reading this and helping my cause.
Having a chronic illness is expensive. I am reaching out to those who might be able to help. I have had Chronic Neurological Lyme since 2011. I was not one of the lucky people that caught it early. So, I have been fighting the fatigue, pain, hearing loss, and many other symptoms. I still work, but not like I used to. A teaching lecturers income isn’t enough to make a dent in the medical bills. My husband works and pays for our living expenses he does all he can. Even my 16 year old daughter has been working to help support our household. I have held onto my pride long enough. We could really use the help. I am in month 20 of very intense antibiotic treatment in combination with herbal and alternative healing, such as meditation. If this round doesn’t change my status of “in a flare” I will start IV antibiotics and need to see a specialist in NYC. I am thankful for all I have, and the love and support of my family and friends, but if you can give please do. If you can’t, please share.http://www.gofundme.com/RecoveryforIvy
My dad once asked me if all great writers were messed up? Drugs, depression, alcoholism, seem to be a theme in the bios of many of the anthologized writers. I laughed a little at the time, thinking to myself that I was probably a tad more crazy than anyone realized. I think a lot of the people I know feel this way.
Little did I know that three years later I would actually have moments that made me feel insane. The reality is that the disease I have (Lyme) does effect my mental capacity. So, rather than freak out about this, I have decided to embrace it and write more. Who knows, maybe the crazy will help with my writing. 😉
I am working on a short story right now, along with a few poems. I am pretty excited about both. BUT…the biggest news is that the talented and lovely Jill Alexander Essbaum will be writing one of the book jacket blurbs for Elemental. I met Jill at AWP and our kind of crazy just worked. Thank you, Jill for being one of the crazies like me.
About four years ago I was diagnosed with Chronic Neurological Lyme disease. I sometimes feel like I need to be confessing this to a support group. “Hi! My name is Ivy and I have Lyme Disease.” I know it seems dramatic, but unless you have lived with someone who has it, you cannot understand the impact.
Being a poet, teacher, mother, wife, and daughter had to be redefined. In order to get the disease in check I took multiple antibiotics to put the lyme into remission. For about three years I was good. I didn’t have any physical or mental limits from the disease.
In January of 2014 I had a “flare.” This involved me developing debilitating joint pain, memory problems, cranial nerve palsy, hearing loss, difficulty walking and a myriad of other problems. Before I was diagnosed they thought it could be MS or a brain tumor. When they came back with Lyme, I had no idea what that would mean. It evidently means something different for each person, as it is the great imitator.
I tried to push through the pain and exhaustion, which only compounded the problems. I would go to work, clean the house, do all of the things that I always did, but instead of sleeping and being able to get up and do it all over, I would wake up the next day in pain, exhausted and depressed. It was like my body was the enemy. If I did anything strenuous I would end up having to recover for days. Now I usually only have a short recovery period…somewhere around a four hour nap.
My doctor and I changed my antibiotics several times to get the “cocktail” right. It is a marathon not a sprint, he keeps saying. I am currently on month 17 of antibiotics that would throw the strongest immune system into spasms. Thank goodness for probiotics!
The challenges have been many, but I have good and bad days now. This is an improvement over nothing but bad days. I still write, I garden, and if anything it has made me more introspective. Before it was easy to just do and not think, but now I have to decide what I can afford when it comes to energy expenditures. I realize that I have to choose what I will do each day based on what I have in my “energy bank account.”
Giving up is not in my vocabulary, but I am thankful that I have such wonderful friends, family and colleagues. Without the support from people who are kind and genuine I would have suffered much more. I spent the first year of my flare trying to pretend that it would just go away. I didn’t want to tell anyone. It is so easy for us to judge one another, and I didn’t want to seem weak.
So, here it is. I have Chronic Neurological Lyme Disease. I am fighting it every way I can, but some days are better than others.
I am working on a collection of poems that deals with the struggle of chronic illness. It isn’t as dark as it sounds. 😉 My hope is I will have it done by the end of the summer and will be announcing where it will be published. That would be a great end to a beautiful summer.