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I want to get creativity + mindfulness prompts and poems:

 

Samantha’s Daily Poem

August 2, 2011

I knew him before



He smelled like
old tupperware
a waxy film coated his skin
he kept the television on
all day
all night.

I knew him before
this dank apartment
this lethargy.
I knew him when he winked
devoured novels
showed off tricks to the kids
with a soccer ball
on sunny days.

Then a despondency
arrived
and ate away at the parts of him
that shone
until all that was left
was grey.

When you close your eyes
I asked him
what does it look like
inside your head?

He said
it’s funny
because
it’s not in my head
it’s a thousand pounds of rock
strapped to my back
and everyone keeps smiling
and encouraging me to
jump
jump.

August 1, 2011

The dream



She dreamed her son’s death
the night
the hour
it happened.

I was told this
a matter-of-fact parcel
of anguish and awe
and my body
expanded to allow
for it to be true.

For days
I walked
holding the space
for this wonder
this faith that my soul
is as irrefutable
as my lungs
that Carl Jung was right
a collective subconscious
throbs in between us
loud and dizzy
lobbing messages
our way.

A few more days
the space is caving in
like a sagging balloon
and I want to hold on
to stay afloat
in the mystery
but I have work to do
book club
a duvet cover to return
and it hurts a little
holding myself agape
in the immensity
of belief.

July 31, 2011

The wind did this to you



The wind did this to you.
Wrapped you in the afternoon’s
breath, cold off the sea
licked your soft new skin
with salt and the roar
of a thousand miles of memory.

You grabbed at it
how could it be so slippery
and hard to see
your arms flapped
recklessly
your chin shiny
with drool
you shrieked
and giggled
like a possessed
pigeon.

Unblocked
by diffidence
hard-core frolicking
surrender
you and the wind
were entwined
and no one could say
for sure
if it was you
or the wind
at the mercy
of this passing moment
of joy.

July 30, 2011

Baby deer



Baby deer
eyes wide open
floating
your head nods up and down
on the waves
so that it looks like
you are still alive
saying yes yes
don’t worry, mama
I can make it
I can swim a little
longer
don’t go too fast
I am right
behind you.

July 29, 2011

A mission



I like a mission
a purpose to my errands
that infuses them
with tenacity.

A white frame
in an odd size
a travel alarm clock
not made in China
a second-hand anything
in chartreuse.

I am aware
this hunting is a symptom
of brewing discontent
an escape
a release
a suspension
of the deeper me.

But it is consuming
all the same
in a strangely
breathless
euphoric
way.

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