Tutu Thoughts

On a Sunday full of bells,
while I still
suffered prescribed white dresses
plus the horror
of beige bloomers,

I tied my skirts between my legs
and jumped on a boy’s sweaty back,
to wrap both arms around his neck

until my vise made the demon squeal.
He never tried to steal ice cream money again;
at least, not from my red purse.

As my thirty-eighth Sprouting Grass Moon blooms,

choking my wants out of a strangled life lacks
any kind of real appeal. I think
undue violence… bores me.

My arms remain a ready vise
and my hips balance blade and hammer,
but squealing demons is a waste.

On a Sunday of distant bells,
while I am
sun-clad and life-filled,
I grin at fading thieving demons
(sip coffee) and cackle at tutu thoughts.

Process Note: this might be the most unexpected poem I’ve written for the cruellest month. I was convinced that I wanted to grab the things that bring difficulty to my life and shake them until they squealed. And I tried writing just that… I tried hard… Then I started laughing, because I realized that metaphorically kicking the living lights out of my afflictions gave me no pleasure. On the other hand, cackling while I mentally watched them squirm as their hold over me melted away, well… that made me grin like a half-crazed lunatic. I liked it. I liked it a lot *cackles witchy style*.

***
for NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 26 – Speak to Your Affliction: Metaphorically sit in front of the thing (or person) that ails you, and let your poem tell it (him or her) exactly what’s in your mind.

linked to
Poets United, Poetry Pantry 249

Tuzki in a Pink TutuTuzki
via

I Know How to Fall

I know how to fall
out of love in a flash;
almost
always
without skinning my heart

or breaking
my hubris’ bone.

I make list after list
(five days prior to the arrival of now)
and for each item, I create “What ifs…”

What if my lips are cracked and bloodied,
and I can’t wake the princess with a kiss?

What if exhaustion makes me thoughtless,
and I break the crystal coffin
without seeing what lies within?

What if gut and backbone turn against me,
and I can’t take three steps
without crying eleven howls and one shriek?

She must be roused properly;
that coffin’s too valuable to lose.
If my nerve leaves me,
I’ll run into the woods
and reclaim it.

I know how to fall
out of love
with what’s expected:

I practice.

About the Image: the artwork is part of “a sort-of Snow White and an almost Sleeping Beauty” story. I chose it because Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell took the traditionally expected “happily ever after”, and reshaped it into a tale in which a lot more characters can do some real living.

***
for NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 25 – Anticipating Mayhem: Write a poem that lets us glimpse into how you ready yourself before facing known troubles, and what you do to cope once mayhem has done its thing.

The Sleeper and the Spindle“…detail from The Sleeper and the Spindle by Neil Gaiman and illustrator Chris Riddell. Photograph: Chris Riddell/Bloomsbury”
via