The thing with November, especially this year, is that it was weird. Very weird. I had eye surgery again (3rd time in one year). My ex-husband died, I was nominated for another Pushcart (which I thought was a fluke last year) and well, the country decided to vote for a felon. I wrote a poem about the weirdness and I'm not going to submit it anywhere so here it is for you. I shared it at the 30 Days of Poetry reading live (always a challenge for an introvert). The CNAM fundraiser folks booked a venue at Smith College just the other night and as I stood there reading, I heard people laugh. I always appreciate a good laugh if I think I'm being funny. Here goes:

Retail therapy (working title)

everything’s weird
in that nightmarish way

where one thing cascades
into another --- and d o w n 

go the dominoes
the dots themselves

ovalized the way pores 
appear swollen on sunburned skin

one scene shifting into another 
what was and is -- and has always been

now this flimsy gauzy thing and at the same time
   --hammered down -- made of unshiny tin or copper gone dark

great gaps coming alongside the way rowboats don’t fit
together -- their curves so beautiful and apart

I haven’t any way to wrench it back –restart
who am I -- where will I go -- can I sit

when I need to stand - may I please rewind
and take the rough sandpaper of me

scrape it all loose I am the caboose--
 I am the lost wheel of the who I used to be

I used up -- all the all -- of me - and yet I’m full of all the stories 
God, please --- let me have my favorite orange cheese

and those shoes at REI -- Howser slide with herringbone 
in obtuse stripes –lining up like they should - like I can’t--

maybe I could shake loose like you see birds do when they’re wet--
    where the feathers fling right around 

I need those shoes - I’m sure I could step right into 
    the who I was        (before weirdness set in)

A Monday is a terrible thing if you're stewing about all that you haven't done. But I was able to push out a poem. I'm not saying it's good. It's just a poem. Be gentle. Here 'tis:

I realize all I have
 
Is the part when I let go
And find myself staring
At the wind’s circumstance
Leaves lifted up like skirts
Or the river’s silver-white glance
trees shifting
I wait, I wait
 
Soon the weighing down will come
Reminding me of time and loss
It’s blue that cheers me
Your pale eyes remembered
Or in the evening come the moon
Giant hole-punch
often yellow
 
Blue or full or even new
In vacancy I view as grief
Could I be bear
To prowl to find that quiet place
And curl up there
 
Quiet that floats in evening mist
And tells me to forget the rest
 
--CDF

Here's the first prompt for the month. I'm sharing this one, but I don't promise to share any others.  DAY #1 Prompt: “I remember.”
 
1. Take five to ten minutes to write “I remember…” lines without stopping. Name specific scenes, moments, descriptions. You might want to try writing this by hand rather than by computer. See the sample poem below for some examples.
2. Consider copying this list and cutting it into separate lines and rearranging them, or rearrange them on your computer document. You could choose your most descriptive or striking or surprising top 10, 20, or 30… Do what you want with these lines to make a poem.
 --Keep the “I remember” at the beginning of each line, or don’t. Random and optional word list: test, pleasure, stall, move, path, trace, give, unique, sturdy.
The person who mailed this prompt says this prompt idea came from the book A Primer for Poets & Readers of Poetry, by Gregory Orr.  She sent the prompt to me and all the folks who signed up to write yesterday (for today). She said in her note, "...that way we could think about it in our subconscious," and boy, she was right. By the way, I'm hoping all the poems are not this depressing. If you'd like to get an email of my daily poem why not use my contact page to sign-up and let me know. I'll add that once I stepped into this remembering process it resulted in me remembering a bunch of things I really didn't want to - but that's the way it is with memories. You can't turn them off once loosened up. I'm posting day #1's poem here but that doesn't mean I'll post them all here. Well, anyway, just for today, here it is..a poem.

I remember
 
a small wading pool with triangle corners
my grandparents’ hydrangeas
the black and white movie
of driving to the hospital at night
nosebleeds that wouldn’t stop
how my teachers talked about me in 7th grade
appendicitus at eleven
how my mother dressed me like I was a paper doll
like I was her hobby
skating on new asphalt
new surfaces of survival
 
--CDF

**LINK to my fundraising page for the Center for New Americans