Day Twenty-Five #poemadayfeb: Sound

I closed the door behind me

and in that moment I heard

my self-worth as it echoed

down to my daughters and

granddaughters and nothing

was ever so beautiful as the

sound of that final goodbye.

Day Twenty-Five #poemadayfeb: Sound

Day Twenty-Four #poemadayfeb: Time

And you. You are the only thing I know about consistency. Like the ink written upon my skin, I close my eyes and trace you by heart and your lines never waver even when my hands refuse to hold steady. I have spent our first act learning you; by heart, by feel, by muscle memory, until the patterns of your DNA lay seamless alongside mine. No more could I know the sound of your breath against me than the sky could know the sound of the wind as it draws across the horizon. This is how I have come to know you; that I feel you there even when evidential proof falters before my eyes. That the metronome of your heart beats synonymously with mine.

We leave behind us wakes of time that fall too fast between our fingers; a second act of stories written with the blood we have sacrificed for our legacy. Volumes of sacred words we refuse to speak out loud but instead scrawl upon pages and vow never to forget; our sonnets, our creeds, our prayers. All the while pretending not to hear the sound of the second hand that pounds inside our chest like a bomb; our hearts in lockdown to protect ourselves from that of which we never can.

The closing act: Everything tastes like goodbye.

~ ©️ Kathy Parker // Time ~

Day Twenty-Four #poemadayfeb: Time

Day Twenty-Three #poemadayfeb: Sonnet

I fling the light from behind my eyes

As an offering to the star-filled night

Veiled in the affliction of my demise

May darkness take captive my sight.

That I cannot see the sorrow of grief

Just one night free from these thorns

Blood abandons my side with no relief

How wearily my wasted heart mourns.

Sleep is aloof in these arms of regret

She comforts me like a cheap whore

The barren hours won’t let me forget

Shattered pieces I can never restore.

But when this broken night is through,

My love, may I be no more lost to you.

~ ©️ Kathy Parker // Sonnet for the Sleepless ~

Day Twenty-Three #poemadayfeb: Sonnet

Day Seventeen and Day Eighteen #poemadayfeb: Weather + Unspoken

I have found that truth lies in the spaces between the words: the cracks in the pavements we tiptoe over, as if we are afraid of seven years bad luck, afraid to break our mother’s back, afraid of what honesty will do, or undo, in the lives we have so carefully swathed with our own language so fluent in things of the weather. Unspoken words get caught in our throat; we choke on their sharp edges and spit them back onto our plates and instead satiate our fear of the silence with words soaked in honey that are swallowed with ease; malnourishing ourselves with empty calories and all the while wondering why we never feel complete. I wonder if this is why some of us like to chew on metaphors; here we can taste truth without saying truth, here we can walk on the cracks without falling through and I think that’s the only way some of us will ever feel safe. Maybe that’s all our lives really are anyway; a metaphor, an analogy, a parable. Maybe none of this is real, maybe we are all just the same stories spoken to new generations. Maybe we are nothing more than a social experiment, Big Brother, watched and scored and already lost to government control and maybe freedom is nothing more than illusion and the last person standing, wins. Maybe you no longer love me. Maybe we have come too unstuck to hold together anymore. I look at you and want to speak these things out loud, I want to tell you how I think I’m sinking into the deepest part of myself and can’t find the way out. But your eyes are fixed on the afternoon sun as it comes through the window that faces west towards the ocean so I watch fallen leaves scatter at the kiss of the wind and hear the sound of the currawong calling in the distance. You note the shifting light; perhaps the change of season is close, you wonder, and I reply, perhaps it is.

~ ©️ Kathy Parker // Unspoken ~

Day Seventeen #poemadayfeb: Weather + Day Eighteen #poemadayfeb: Unspoken

Day Fifteen #poemadayfeb: Rhyme

You told me to write

a poem that rhymed.

But we live in a world

where bullets murder

our trusting children,

and we let it happen.

And I don’t know how

to make poetry out of

that.

~ ©️ Kathy Parker ~

My heart grieves with #Florida tonight.

Image courtesy Aiden Minoff @TheCaptainAiden, taken during lockdown at Majory Stoneman Douglas High.

Day Fifteen #poemadayfeb: Rhyme

Day Fourteen #poemadayfeb: Star

We had always

been dreamers

in love with

the night sky

but over time

the atmosphere

became heavy

with our silence

and one by one

the stars went out;

slowly,

then all at once,

until we could

no longer find

our way back

to where we

had started.

~ ©️ Kathy Parker // Lost ~

Day Fourteen #poemadayfeb: Star