Hello friends,
I’m on my period this week, in addition to my usual MS fatigue. Nyx (my new cat) has also been waking me up at five every morning. My eye has been twitching all week. So rather than come up with some insightful and well-written life lesson for you this week, I’m sharing a poem I recently wrote.
I’m writing a lot of new poetry as I continue working on my first collection: The Resistance of Violets. This poem, tentatively called “Seven Things,” will probably undergo edits before I release the collection. I wanted to share it now, though, because it feels hopeful. (I’m also secretly hoping this will convince you to become a paying member if you aren’t already because this is the kind of stuff I share with the Sad Poets Society.)
Seven Things
Sometimes the sky is so blue my heart breaks because it’s blue too, an empty bruise pulsing with life, living in spite of the hollowness. A murmuration of starlings arrives, swooping and swirling in my cavernous ventricles desperate to be filled. The birds come together, drift apart, come together again. Each of them focusing on only seven of their brethren. Maybe I, too, can find just seven things to hold on to, seven things to bring my broken pieces back together. A dandelion growing up through the cracks, resilient and determined, living for the day when it will ride on the wind. A pot full of broth, simmering on the stove, nourishment in the form of discarded vegetables and roasted bones and herbs still fresh from the earth. My mother’s embrace, almost too tight, our pain and love mingling like my fingers caught in the spiderweb strands of her hair. The steady breath of my dog, curled up in the curve of my stomach where I feel my own breath begin to match hers, deep and slow, like an ocean flowing through us both. The moon in the morning sky, pale bone against faded blue, as sunrise brings contrast to the world. Cloud silk threads spread pink across the horizon, stretching soft fingers toward the promise of infinity. The scent of decaying leaves, sharp and sour like the starter on my counter waiting to become bread. Raindrops kissing the top of my head, just like my dad did when I was young, like he does to this day, to let me know I’m still his little girl. Seven things to anchor me, to keep me from drifting too far out to sea, a lifesaving septet of wonder.
What are your seven things? What are the starlings in your life that keep you headed in the right direction? Let me know in the comments.
I hope your evening is graced with thunderstorms,
Yardena
Weekend Potpourri
I just discovered Hila Ruach’s new album, and I can’t stop listening
"Selected Legends of Andre the Giant" (from The Dead Wrestler Elegies by W. Todd Kaneko) are as beautiful as they are odd.
Take five minutes out of your day to watch this gorgeous and meditative video of the fireflies of the Anamalai Tiger Reserve in southern India.
Yair Rosenberg’s insight into why we shouldn’t trust viral video clips is fascinating. Our brains are wild.