Poetry | Biennial Beauty, Black Holes & Insomnia

Biennial Beauty

Tuesday, August 1, 2023

As I walk I daydream of lying in a field.

Little white umbrellas float above two sun kissed bodies

drifting with the clouds overhead.

Soon, when raindrops begin to fall,

these lacy umbrellas cannot hold back the water

that soaks through their clothes but tickles only one’s skin.

The wildflowers watch with little burgundy eyes

as wet lovers move gently in the grass.

When asked what vegetable I like best

I will reply, “Queen Anne’s lace.”

To Be a Black Hole

To be a black hole is—

to beam, to blaze, to shine, to give all of yourself

and expect nothing in return.

To be a black hole is—

to stretch, to pull, to sculpt, to grasp for every last inch

but never take anything away.

To be a black hole is—

to consume, to interrogate, to learn, to want a connection

yet be willing to let it all go.

To be a black hole is—

to release, to offer, to share, to surrender everything that you know

because it’s better to give than to receive.

To be a black hole is—

to remember, to celebrate, to honor, to feel all that you’ve experienced

and find peace in that perfect silence.

Insomnia

I conjured a wolf,

the shadow of my heart,

sauntering in rhythm

with the lonely wind.

Just after it turned the bend

the nighthawk swept and sang

a curious tune,

“Who? Where? Why?”

With these night creatures

by my side, guiding me home,

I feel the world

holding me up.

It’s soft embrace

in darkness

all that much sweeter

than the hours of light.

Shared with people

of the day who

confess, they too

cannot sleep at night.