Twelve cups of coffee later and I have (finally!) completed my book of poems Love Blues Balance. A project I have been compiling for weeks now has a cover and 108 pages of material. Just awaiting approval from Createspace and then I will a) order a copy for myself and b) order copies to distribute. A special thanks to friend and photographer Kirsten Lara Valenzuela who provided the lovely cover image you see here.
Can’t wait for distribution! Stay tuned! ❤
So I am a woman
occupying a square
a circle a triangle
a rectangle a glob
of space
of air
of spit
or moisture
of particles 
and earth matter
beneath and above
and all around me
I like this space
I take this space
for granted
I rarely look up
at all that wiggle-
room above my head
I rarely jump,
but I should
I forget that
S P A C E
is not something
everyone has
I neglect to be thankful
for what I can control,
for what I do possess
Instead I go to extremes
trying to control things
way way wayyyyyyyy
outside-of-me
maybe even up in
someone else’s space
Today was sad but
stupid-sad like,
like running late
to work though
not really late
just the type
that’s like
Oh I can’t take a
hot cup of coffee
with me
I can’t change my
scarf or my skirt late
like Poor me whaddami
gonna do without
my hot coffee
without
my perfectly
selected shoes
So I get in my car
and take a quickdeep
breath
I say to myself
I’ve got my health,
among other things
I’ve got my s p a c e
and I start to list those
things for which I’m thankful for:
Thankful the windshield
isn’t frozen over
Thankful for a
heated leather seat
Gosh, how much do I
really need?
Thankful the customers don’t
come in til nine
and only because I want
to clear my mind
Thankful I have a job!
and one that I like!
Thankful we made love last night
Thankful for the space to think
it all over
the solitude of being young
and childless
and grandchildless
and great-grandchildless
though I hope for those things too–
for now I am Daughter
I am a woman
occupying a square
a circle a triangle
a rectangle a glob
of space
of air
of spit
or moisture
of particles
and earth matter
beneath and above
and all around me
I take this space
for granted
I rarely look up
at all that wiggle-
room above my head
I rarely jump,
but I should
I dare us all to
break out of our molds
to defy the iron that binds us
Neverminding
what he thinks of me
what she thinks of me
or how little or big of me
they think it
too often a day
we play to our strengths
or worse to our weaknesses
I won’t even say what
they all think of me
or the lows I think
of myself
But I challenge us all
right here right now
to step out of that trap
and live more creatively
more daringly
more freely
to live life more
freethinkingly
As a kid I’d get scared
We all did I know
We feared a thing
called Monster
It’s origins unknown
Yes it could be
under the bed
in the closet
down the hall
but where did this
thing come from
all slimy sickly and slow
I thought it all over
I thought it through
real good
I though if I ever
actually meet the
monster,
I’d know just what
to do:
I’ll make friends
with it, I said
a monster seems
a lonely thing
now I know I
only wanted to
manipulate the
monster–get him
to stay under the bed.
Do we ever dream
up female monsters?
No I think we don’t
Do we have good reason to?
Sometimes, but mainly no
Amazing that I feared the
green and gooey
When monsters
were all around me
Well at least there
were one or two
But people called them
Grandfather, Neighbor
or just Joe
Rather than run
from them
call them out
or call the cops
we would roast
them chickens
fill their coffee,
clean their pots
Now I’m not saying
the women were angels
the men were devils
and that was that
but there’s something
to be said for fighting
not running
when things get bad
So if you ever meet
a monster
Don’t you listen to me
Instead of making friends,
you just be as loud as
you can be
Scream, shout, bite, tell it all
Don’t you hold a thing back
There are exceptions to this
rule, as life isn’t always
white and black
But use your rage and
use it good
Be wise beyond your years
Know that monsters come in
all sizes and ages
And this is how you know their near:
You feel it in your gut
it doesn’t have to be dark outside
The monster doesn’t have to
be scary
When you know
you know
you know
you know
And I know you know
what I mean
The sooner you tell
somebody about it
the sooner the monster
stops feeding
But even if it’s been
years and years
come out with the
thing and start
your healing
So full of dreams
like me
a young woman
comes in for keys
I’ll be here for life!
She tells me
through her bright
blue eyes
through her strait
young teeth
I don’t hesitate for
a second
I don’t skip a beat
What’s your lucky number?
I ask her
So we can get you
a box that you like.
We wrangle the woman a
mail square to last a lifetime,
should mail last that long
I swallow the knowledge
of divorce
and betrayl
all stories
my boxes tell
We talk for
over one hour
about the land
our man
our jobs
and plans
the girl’s got
a grand plan
though not
yet a roof
I mean she’s
got a place
it’s dilapidated
and out in
the rain
but I can see
given her stance
that failure doesn’t
stand a chance
like me she’s
banking on
her man
her vision
and most of
all her strength
I withhold from
shouting friend!
Long lost
counter-part!
I withhold from asking
What is your sign?
I’m betting it must be
fire like mine
I simply nod my head
and shake her hand
and wonder if there’s
more in store
for her
for me
for us
for our men
for our stories
for our boxes
for our lives
A young woman
comes in for keys
so full of dreams
like me
I swallow the knowledge
of divorce
and betrayl
all stories
my boxes tell
I keep the faith
and I keep it well
for it is my very own story
that I’m trying to sell
I write with vigor
but I can’t talk with
my friends
Some nights they’re
like this
I can’t push and
force myself into
behaving so I find
a groove with
the music and
I speak through my
fingers and onto
the page
I will not beg to
be one of the girls
one of the girls
with a way of words
from her mouth
but a woman who
hordes the thoughts
and later arranges
them so onto the page
Later spilling them
throwing them at my friends
at my lover
while they’re sleeping
or silent and I can
finally get my word in
The band is far
too loud
for this pint sized bar
on a Thursday night
There’s no crowd to
play through
just the band
and me
empty tables
and a head ache
My friends they
get happy on the beer
but the beer just
makes me sadder
which is no good thing
I sit with my pen
I steal blank white
order tickets from the bar
with which to write
nothing good upon
I think of having the singers babies
I think of having the drummers babies
I think of having my boyfriends babies
When the song dies down
I hear my lovers voice
booming through the
patio doors as he
laughs and carries on
with my girlfriends
I love the music
the singer is good
but the beer it
makes me sadder
We take a hard swim in the river before meeting my family up on the hill for pork roast and blackberry cobbler. I try to make myself presentable with jeans and boots but my hair is so wild and windblown it makes me look like a clown with my pink lipstick on. That’s how I feel anyway. I want to be pretty for them all. For my boyfriend, and for my Grandpa John who we just found out has cancer. I want to be there early but it’s seven already by the time we finally arrive.
They’ve just finished eating and have to reheat the beans and meat. My new boyfriend is quieter than I would like. It’s clear to my family that no one is proposing anytime soon–as usual. Just a boyfriend? Is that all? I mumble-talk to my family wishing I were prettier like my girl cousin, and peppy-er too. In the morning I spend a full hour wrestling with my hair and smoothing my clothes hoping for the picture-perfect day with my boyfriend–the kind of day I’ve always imagined. We go for coffee and the barrista is so shining and beautiful she makes me sad when she smiles. But I smile back and I thank her SO MUCH and she coo’s at our black dog Honey. She’s as pretty as I want to be.
I beg myself STOP STOP STOP, it’s not about that. Nobody cares about this as much as you do. We pull out of the drive and the truck hits a bump spilling my milky caramel coffee onto the jeans and dress I had so carefully selected this morning.
I vow to give up on my face and my dress. I should be thinking about my grandfather with the cancer and the fact that just this morning my boyfriend said I Was Beautiful. I don’t feel fully better until I write this out in the passenger seat of the pickup, coffee between my thighs, sticky fingers, imperfect but perfectly feminine and passionate and alive.
Shine a bright light
into the black spaces
of our lives and we
find small, cowering
things starving and
losing life
We find secrets
trapped in stone
growing inside our
own cavernous minds
bad things taking form
that never shoulda
survived
I want to lead
the fears
hand in hand
from my cave
from my temple
and free them
one by one
to make my life
more simple
I’m hungry
but I won’t touch
my plate
all the delicacies
in the world
would not satisfy me
and so,
how can I be helped?
What I salivate for
is not of this world
maybe it is
my unborn child
maybe it is
his budding,
not yet bloomed
love for me
maybe it is
the love withheld
from me
maybe it is
love to gift to
myself
‘stead of waiting for
it from my mother,
my father,
my lover
maybe this thing is
fame not yet attained
maybe this thing is
Spirituality
Maybe, surely
it is that unsatisfied
vessel that we all know
so well
That itching space
that we all share—
an unfulfilled fantasy
so out-of-this-world
it will never be achieved
like how we imagine
our wedding days to be
so high on the shelf
it’s out-of-reach
better to just forget
it’s even there
ignorance is bliss
they say
but I deserve a knowledge
tried & true
I’m hungry
for love &
I beg it of you
So many dreams
tattered at their feet
I will not be like my parents,
I will not sell myself so cheap
How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time
How do you stay sane
with a hunger like mine?
TERAH RACHELLE VAN DUSEN 