The Blooms Riot

A sweeter breeze

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

Each of these Sunday poetry collections centers loosely around a tarot card, and this week we’re checking in with the Hermit.

This card reminds me that sometimes, time alone is required, and while holding that boundary can be hard, the payoff is worth it.

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CONTENTS:

1. Sweeter Breeze

2. The Blooms Riot

SWEETER BREEZE

A ship turns slowly:
Heads for a different wind,
For a sweeter breeze.

Content warning: references to abuse and drug overdose

THE BLOOMS RIOT

Ever slumped into the drab seat of an early morning Megabus,
Young body hung over and busted up,
On a ride impossibly north
Up 89 to a frigid home,
To well-intentioned parents
Who never could quite see you through the thickening fog of generations,
Who could not understand you on the phone,
Who blinked in confusion at your feelings
As your exhausted frame curled into your weeping?

Ever fled from the rage of a person who claimed to be your savior,
And, as it became clear that the yelling would not cease,
As it insisted it would take both its and your time,
Felt yourself shrink against the back of your skull,
Liquify,
Drip down your spine,
Your face replaced by someone else,
Someone who could be brave?

Ever laid on your couch,
Shook a bottle of capsules into your hand,
An action not at all planned,
Just an honest response to unbearable pain that never seems to end,
Hoping to sleep,
Peacefully,
And never wake to feel the ache again?

Ever dreamed of the scent of sawdust,
And yearned for one more moment
To speak with the man who raised you,
To ask him if the road ever becomes any wider or flatter,
Or heaven willing,
Could it ever be both?

Ever shied from the morning sun with a crick in your neck,
Messy hair shoved to the side,
Face all creased from the couch cushion,
And a heart-crushing regret,
Horror at the thought of forcing someone you love to discover
The shell that you had left?

Ever known with each fiber of your muscles 
That birthing and nursing a baby was not your mission,
Yet, still make fervent daughter-wishes,
Such as:
“May they choose partners who have already worked out their shit,
And may they feel free for as long as they live?”

Ever had your home become your third space,
In an evolutionary path you never could have seen in advance,
But for which you’re grateful,
Even though the transition was filled with pain?

In the end,
Where there could have been a graveyard,
I planted a garden.
The blooms riot after rain.