Three Poems

 

Wendy Vardaman

 

 

 

 

we were planting scraps in rows

 

wishing wisdom would grow

if not wisdom distraction

            distraction

 

would do   we were

willing to settle on

window or even

 

something though not

 

nothing      nothingness

already everywhere

 

even window

scared us

 

we were tired of empty

            of emptiness

so tired       we were

      planting scraps

 

 

 

 

 

 

I dream in knots

 

trying to slip a way out/through

escape tangle/twist

 

get back to the

get back to

get back

 

are you listening

 

undo

the mistakes

 

of course I/we/they are trying

of course I/we/they

 

didn’t mean to

      not me

 

especially birds

and table legs toasters books

the pen that I’m holding

the virus everywhere

 

not a storyteller

not a mother

not a girl            breathe breathe

not a wife                  breathe

not a soothsayer

 

words get more   y      t      s      i      w      t

 

what does the prodigal’s brother do

 

some life force is trying

doesn’t require us to

 

                        breathe

                  breathe

                        breathe

 

unthread exit

untwist retreat

untangle escape

unstep out

 

                  enter the prodigal

 

not poet

not word

not artist

not line

not teach

not soothe

 

      in which I become a knot slipping myself out

      which I guess means slipping out of myself

 

 

 

 

 

 

assemblage with shadow

 

first line the B left

spray painted on the garage

 

family history

the baby’s head emerging

 

with texture seven

hours back and for the last hour

 

to glue unravel

join pieces into things lost

 

wax cast shapes thick 

lines leading off the boundless

 

scar traveling navel

to just below the breastbone

 

learning to cut scratch

color scrape though we can’t

 

lose track of the past

year searching for why

 

don’t feel so attached

to what I make which makes

 

it easier to add

to take away foot from your

 

from the mother’s neck

reminds me to work kinder

 

to weave weld rip

rubber mold some bits

 

to forehead maybe arm

or elbow to thin line

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wendy Vardaman, PhD, works as a web & digital media specialist.  The author of three poetry collections, her creative practice includes editing, prose writing, printing, and book arts.  She served as Madison, Wisconsin poet laureate from 2012 to 2015 and volunteers as a graphic designer.  Wendy Vardaman is online at wendyvardaman.com

 

 


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