ask me again
what i think of you
in a year
i said
forgetting the mayan calendar
and its end in two months
or thereabouts
in the instance
that the world explodes
like a cherry bomb
while the ash and dust
that was us unfurl
into vacuum,
in more of a snap
than anything
as big as a bang
remind one of your particles
to ask one of mine
as we race further
into unbecoming
and i’ll answer
I knew this one was coming–and I am soooo happy! I love Julie’s award, so here it is, for all to see…
Thanks, Jules!
Welcome to the Introspection Tag, people. Vinay, otherwise known a “Leo” over at I Rhyme Without Reason, has passed on a tag I just cannot resist, because it is so…introspective. I even have to pass this tag on, it is that interesting. I really enjoy Leo’s wit and sense of humor, not to mention his haiku. He also runs the meme over at Haiku Heights, and I do not want to annoy him by turning him down, which could result in impossible multisyllabic haiku weekly prompts…so…THANK YOU VINAY! So, I am now going to go through a period of intense self-examination and introspection to answer the following 7 questions, and then pass the tag on to 5 other people.
OK, now I get to tag 5 people. You can ignore me if you want to…but I just might “like” all of your posts without reading them for a week if you do. Nah. I would never be that mean….I have to read your posts, because I LOVE you guys!
So, you five can ignore me totally, send me a hot potato award (Jules), or cuss me out & continue the game–up to you!
by Susan L. Daniels and Noel A. Ihebuzor
I am a girl.
Eleven years ago
I came too early for you,
but I was yours
as nothing else was,
and I grew under love
brighter than the sun.
I am still growing. I am green
& unripe fruit, unready
I am a girl,
I long to play, feel
and unfurl. I run after butterflies
I wave after birds in flight
I dwell in innocence
I harvest smiles and stars in all I see
I am a child
my eyes carry hope.
I feel. I dream past this body
and carry in these bones
a life that hums promise
and walks joy
I am a girl,
body, soul and spirit,
and human
not a piece of flesh
not an object for peace
not an object to be priced
I am a girl,
though lately this body bleeds
and these breasts can make milk
I am too young for this business of women
my hips are too narrow to balance a child,
too slender to push one out;
my mind too new to mother another
and I will break beneath a man’s need
my young body if forced to yield will only hurt,
weep in pain and shame
I am a child,
I long for safe spaces
to draw and discover my dreams,
to live them, and to sing, joyful
as I discover the marvels of the world,
my world expanding
I am a child.
I dream of books I have not read
and the only seed I am fit to hold now
are those of the mind, scattered to work deep;
not the body choked with seeds of a man
I must accept but carry in fear and bitterness.
Death will bloom inside my body, not life
if I am planted now
I am child,
not a wife
marriage at my age will drown me
twist my bones
pierce my body
and break my spirit
Mother, father
I am your child.
Your flesh made and fed me;
to send me to a husband
is to send me to a slaughterhouse
where the floor is stained
with the blood of so many cattle
listen to my words, words
eyes speak but mouth cannot;
words my body shouts in trembling
your eyes can hear if they open.
I beg you to answer past my fear
and shield me with your arms
Father and mother
ignore the clutter of culture
spare your daughter this chain of torture
Ignore the clatter of the appeal of gain,
remember our bond of blood
before you cause me pain,
before your decisions tear and shatter my developing body
and eventually spill this innocent blood
***You guys had to know this was coming, right? Noel (regular text) and I (italicized) have created this duet, using the voice of a child. Though it was, as always, a pleasure to weave lines with Noel, the subject is not one that leads to much joy…no matter how talented your duet partner is.
apple picking the first week of october
is tradition, that hard cider scent
warmed by sun just enough
to lure bees to buzz drunk above orchard grass. we pick
buckets full of mcintosh, still hard on the tree, but blushing
to baking softness in a week, sweet but with a tart
that draws mouths into smiles involuntarily.
the first year i pulled my son behind me
in a wagon with the apples, he held each one like a gift.
later, peeling them, each he held had two tiny tooth marks
like vampire kisses just breaking the skin.
he teethed on apples, evidence I removed
with a paring knife and a smile.
fall apples: heady and smelling already of pies
and cinnamon, sauce and the potpourri drift of spiced rings
in the dehydrator, the last fruit we harvest before november
sinks its teeth in, and those teeth bite deeper
than apple skin.
***at Dverse today, we are writing about fall foods. You know I had to choose apples.
after flight
your arms nest me
safely home
Susan Daniels Poetry 