lifestyle musings of a literary clown (2)
POETRY DAY
This year, I decided to begin making lamps out of the bones of roadkill. Because I have WHAT?! Time on my hands, and I’ve run out of craft supplies. I’m still at the beginning of my journey. Learning how to do basic electrical wiring while I patiently wash and clean the bones. It has been a constructive way to meditate on transforming death into life/light and actively process some of the feelings this year had brought up.
When I was younger, I had these two fantastic science teachers, Dr. Roberts and Ms. Kessler. They both taught me about taxidermy. I dedicate these poems to them.
The Science Teacher
A sonnet
In a basement in a building of bricks
I brought the dead, and you showed me life
You laughed, blending science and broomsticks
A Witch cutting flesh with a surgical knife.
Life is a mystery; peel back the flesh
Bones never lie; they’re all that is left.
wonder upon wonder, my mind enmeshed
As we took out innards from a pigeon’s breast.
a skull from a deer still hangs in my home
we cleaned it with potions, buckets of brine
Hours at your side pouring over tomes
Finding in death signs of the divine
I miss you, my teacher, though you taught me plenty.
And I’m still sad; your death went unknown until I was far past twenty.
Sally the skunk, Peter the possum, Derek the deer
A villanelle
I’ve walked these country roads so often
I’ve begun to name the roadkill
each passing day, their bodies soften.
the deer I know was slain in autumn
laid in wait for bugs through winters chill
I’ve walked these country roads so often
Now in spring, their fur are tufts of pollen
littering life out across the hills
each passing day, their bodies soften.
these animals were never destined for the coffin
And in decay their lives circle they fulfill
I’ve walked these country roads so often
at first, I felt that death itself was rotten
but now it doesn’t give me such a chill
each passing day, their bodies soften.
Where once I saw pain, now I see life in blossom
and bones picked clean by vultures bills
I’ve walked these country roads so often
each passing day, their bodies soften.
BONUS POEM: I felt like I couldn’t leave this blog with a moody meditation on death; I am a clown after all.
I’ve been thinking about socializing a lot lately. Will I remember how to do it? These fears of social angst have led me to practice saying hello in my off time with trees. So here’s one last poem for your day—a mini-meditation on how to say hello.
Remembering how to say hello
Hi!
Hieee!
Hey!
What’s up?
What’s cooking?
What’s new?
Hey Bitch.
Hey Betch.
Hey Biache!!!
I’ve got a story to tell you.
I’ve got a tale to tell you.
I’ve got to get this-off-my-chest-I’ve-been-waiting-all-day-to-tell-some/...-well-to-tell-you.
How you doing?
How are you doing?
How are you doing, really?
You.
Yes. You.
Of course, I’m talking to you.
I mean, it’s just us here.
Having this moment together.
I guess what I mean to say is.
Hello.
It’s nice to see you.