The Devil Is In the Details

A decade of sonnets, a week of life

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

I went through a lot of change in the past week.

I wrote ten sonnets about it.

I hope you enjoy them.

Background music: “Like Ships in the Night” by The Lizzy Co Show

---

On choosing not to let pain become suffering:

I currently have two bruised, scabby knees;

They ache each time I bend them, but I must.

I took a spill, went flying in the breeze;

The scabs will flake in time, this much I trust. 

To trip as an adult is to fall far;

Mistakes have greater consequence with age.

The sidewalk was uneven, went down hard;

The pain filled me with blinding, childish rage.

In that moment, I recalled who I am:

A girl who heals, and heals, and heals again.

I make a scarred body so goddamn glam;

I have no want for lovers or for friends.

The scabs, they come and go, and I remain.

These days, the pleasure far outweighs the pain. 

---

On finally feeling comfortable with being “a lot”

I don’t concern myself with foolish men;

I am intimidating, they cower. 

“You’re hard to read,” one of those fools once said;

That’s the whole point, that’s where lies the power. 

I’m not a newspaper, no headlines here;

I don’t exist to be so readable. 

But those lovers of words, bring yourselves near;

For you, my hands and heart are all so full.

A foolish man sees a straight spine and shies;

“Oh, gods, how to stand powerful women?

Those broads who carry sharpened swords and knives,

Their bodies toughened, soft hearts tucked within?”

It’s ok, little buddy, you’ll be fine.

Fools who love weak women will not be mine. 

---

On letting in the warmth:

Oh, celebrate the warm afternoon light;

It finds no barrier at the window.

The sky yawns wide, jaw unleashes the bright;

We’re up so very high, soft grass below. 

The heat travels so far to be with us;

It yearns for light-years, then it finds our skin. 

It rode here on a galactic school bus;

Sunbeams, like children, talkative, within.

Oh, please, slather dripping sun like butter,

Whatever gods are in charge of those things;

Make us sweat deeply into each other;

Erase the memory of wedding rings. 

The afternoon is warming at our touch. 

Don’t worry, there’s a shady spot for us. 

---

On the particular pride of calluses, honestly earned:

My hands are working creatures, grizzled beasts;

They bear the scars of learning from the whip. 

The palms hold calluses, burns in the crease;

Each mark you see: it a flaw, or gift?

My hands have equal capability;

I reach with whichever one is closer,

The right, the left, it’s all the same to me.

(I’m trending southpaw as I get older.)

My hands are good at finding what I need;

They fill up like a cornucopia. 

And once I have enough to stop the bleed,

I’ll share what I have left over with ya.

How powerful, a pair of working hands:

Executors of carefully-laid plans. 

---

On finding an environment that allows hope to grow:

Hope is a quiet curiosity;

It pads into your room on kitten-toes.

It settles itself down beside your feet;

When you’re ready, it will share what it knows. 

Hope knows you might not trust it to be real,

That’s why its claw sometimes gives you a scratch;

It wants you to know you’re able to feel.

That is the glory of life, and the catch. 

Hope cannot root itself in salted earth;

To give it a home, stones must be removed.

But this work is the kind that shows your worth;

To you, that is, to whom it should be proved. 

Hope is beating a sword into a plow.

It’s working hard to let your heart allow. 

---

On loving my face more and more as it ages:

I’m watching myself age, it is a gift;

Crow’s feet and sweet nasolabial folds.

Never thought I’d get to see my face shift,

Never thought I would see myself grow old. 

But my tree-trunk-rings racked up, all the same;

To my astonishment, I stayed alive. 

I learned the secret rules to play the game,

And now I teach the young ones to survive. 

To age: why ever would someone fight it?

The body’s just the fur coat of the soul. 

It shows some wear with time, but that’s alright;

It’s gorgeous, even with a couple holes. 

A new face, sort of, reflects back to me:

Same green eyes, all new possibilities. 

---

On an unexpected scent:

A slow meander home past bright flowers;

The blooms smell improbably of root beer.

They are all mine, these warm afternoon hours;

Each day, I leave my work and find them here,

Tucked neatly between sidewalk cobblestones,

These messages in bottles, each tells more.

Small secrets meant to be witnessed alone,

Which find their way together into lore. 

The flowers really did smell like root beer,

All sassafras, wintergreen, cinnamon.

A good reminder, all’s not what it seems; 

It’s good to use all senses to listen.

To notice without fear’s a luxury,

A gift, I worked so hard, and bought, for me. 

---

On finding people whose help is actually helpful:

My life seems to be getting easier;

I’m getting better at accepting help.

Those two things are related, that’s for sure;

I used to rely only on myself. 

Earlier in my life, that way made sense;

I wanted to be cooperative,

But my caregivers were incompetent,

And I was just trying to fucking live.

Things worked better alone for a while, true;

Compared to harmful influences, sure,

But some time passed, I started to feel blue,

And I started to crave a little more. 

Deep breath, reach out, and try it all again.

Surely, someone in this world is a friend. 

---

On what we deserve:

Let each of us have dignity, at least;

Let us feel worthy, loved, human, and whole. 

Let us have ready shelter from the beasts

Who seek to consume us, body and soul. 

Let each of us feel safe inside ourselves;

Let us find what we seek when we reach out. 

Let us grow spreading wings of ringing bells,

And fly to gorgeous shores we’ve read about. 

Let us land softly where our feet alight;

Let us find solid, floral, fertile ground. 

Let us sink our hands into sun-warmed earth,

Feel where we will someday come back around. 

---

On breaking the chains:

I burned the village where we were captive;

The handcuffs, tossed in the cauldron to melt. 

Threw the chains in there, too, couldn’t help it;

You would agree if you knew how we felt. 

Turn your eyes to the town celebrating;

We all were prisoners, but now we’re free. 

If you feel trapped, you best get escaping.

I didn’t kill these guards only for me. 

Alarms are singing out, they harmonize;

Don’t worry, I’ll shut down the power grid.

Just focus on yourself and your own flight,

I’ll deal with the authorities’ bullshit. 

Look at these wings, this face; I’m not afraid. 

I’ll take the heat. Go out, get yours, get paid. 

---

Thank you so much for joining today! If you enjoyed your experience, please tell a friend, leave a tip, or consider a subscription!

All my best,