Thirty-One: Weeks Nineteen & Twenty

Days one hundred and twenty-seven through one hundred and forty

Photo by Jonathan Farber on Unsplash

Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them here.

Day One Hundred and Twenty-Seven (August 31st)
I don’t want to see the truth. I want to see what the truth could be. 

Day One Hundred and Twenty-Eight (September 1st)
Nature will take care of you, 
breaking you down as you lie
in the ground, becoming the earth. 

You will transform into nature, taking care
of all that follows. 

Day One Hundred and Twenty-Nine (September 2nd)
In all things, I am a late bloomer. Conditions must be just right before I’m ready to unfurl. 

Day One Hundred and Thirty (September 3rd)
The highlight of an old scar
intersects cellulite dimples
like rover tracks on the moon

Day One Hundred and Thirty-One (September 4th)
I paused in front of the strawberries, trying to find the freshest, reddest, most mouthwatering of the bunch. A woman stood near me, doing the same. 

“Am I in your way?” I asked. 

“No, take your time,” the woman responded. “Strawberries are serious business.”

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Two (September 5th)
All the words sound wrong. They don’t blend together like they should, and I keep erasing them from the page. Where do they go, those discarded words? Do they gather together and bemoan their lot, or do they form the poem I couldn’t?

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Three (September 6th)
Skin knitting itself back together
feels almost as painful
as the initial instant it was split
open to begin with

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Four (September 7th)
Enunciate the pauses

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Five (September 8th)
It’s ok to be lost. 
It’s also ok to be found.

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Six (September 9th)
Just because it’s natural doesn’t mean it’s good. The red bloom of the chigger bite on my thigh—so like the bright berry flare of the creature itself—continues to itch.

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Seven (September 10th)
I watched Nyx eat a baby lizard today, devoured it in two bites and one gulp. Satiated, she went back to sunning herself. Nature carried on. 

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Eight (September 11th)
Advice asked for
     given
          ignored

Compassion and irritation 
fight for space in the same mind

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Nine (September 12th)
Crying is a specific type of
alchemy. You catalyze your despair 
into tears that flow freely and harsh
cries that tear your throat on
the way out. When the reaction is completed
and the water evaporates from your cheeks,
only the salt remains. Wipe it away. Feel your sorrows
fall from your fingertips. Use what’s left
to season what comes next.

Day One Hundred and Forty (September 13th)
Relief is hope materialized

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