what makes the days better (or, reasons why i get out of bed most days)

1. the smell of a store filled with books--
feeling justified in judging them by their covers--
skipping over the ones with photographs of
movie posters, emblazoned with the claim,
“NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!”
(somehow cheapening their literariness)--
thumbing through dog-eared pages and
opening crackling spines like
huge oak doors leading into both new
and familiar places

2. words
because of where they send my thoughts
“rain”--cozy, inside with the sound of thunder
rumbling softly across the horizon,
or on a run, fear of being drenched abandoned,
instead only the sound of my shoes splashing
through puddles and squelching through mud,
water running down my face.
“autumn”-- crisp mornings with the brightest
blue skies filled with leaves fluttering down
to the soft grass,
bright oranges and reds and
shocking yellows flashing on the landscape.
and “lavender”-- because of the way it sounds,
smooth, gentle, and comforting,
like a beloved childhood doll.

3. a hot cup of coffee before an
early morning ride
towards a long day.
the smell filling the car and giving me a
chance to breathe deeply and
calm down before the day launches into action.

4. sinking into bed at the end of the day.
bones, muscles, joints, bruises, thoughts,
and everything that ached, complicated, or confused
all settling down into much-needed rest.

5. waiting, anticipating, and holding sacred certain things--
kissing: for someone who truly matters.
Sunday: as a day of rest, quiet reflection, and worship.
and saying “I love you”: thought many times but
not spoken too hastily,
holding onto those three words tightly,
like a gift needing to be wrapped in
trust, companionship, and commitment
before being given.
stepping away from the world’s tendency to
make these anticipated things unimportant
and giving them their rightful place
in the realm of
what is meaningful
what lasts.

6. you.

Shields

I have seen what will make me happy,

what will finally fill the hole
in my life
that I became acutely aware of
soon after becoming a teenager.

I have seen my height and weight not as numbers
but as enemies. As evil things,
barring me from the happiness of having
the perfect combination of numbers,
that ratio so desired.

I have seen days and nights
(with parties, dates, and approving glances from across the room)
march silently past--
as a young boy watches soldiers.
wistfully, from the outside,
longing for a chance to fall into the ranks.

I have sat as girls with bodies
I quietly envy
tug self-consciously at hemlines
pat discontentedly at nonexistent stomachs
and shake their heads about barely-there thighs

I have looked in the mirror,standing
in the same spot they stood,
thinking that if they--
who took up so much less space than I--
are dissatisfied
then I do not have permission
to ever be content.

I have seen them like warriors--
applying their war paint of eyeliner and lipstick,
slipping shining dresses over their heads
like the frailest of armor,
and holding sequined clutches in front of them
like the smallest of shields.

and
I have seen that though
my heart
tells me that if I could be like them,
I’d be happy--
I have seen that this is
not always true.

I have seen their armor, crumpled
on the floor, their war paint
streaked with tears of broken promises.
their shields powerless to the force
of the night and its demands.

I have seen that
slipping silently into sparkling
cocktail armor
does little to protect from the
sharpness of life's arrows,
and does not ensure happiness.

I have seen all of this, but like a child
surveying a corpse-strewn battlefield
with an ache in his heart,
a deep desire to join the fight,

I long for my turn
to put on the frail armor
to coat my eyes with black and smoky shadows
and to plunge bravely into the night
armed only with a small,
dazzling shield, and a fading
false belief in the power of my
body
and its perfect combination of numbers.

infinity on the way to English 378

i walked to class, and i looked at all the other people
walking to their classes with
backpacks ipods nikes uggs phones out hoods up
shuffling running smiling frowning
looking up looking down talking too loudly not talking at all
each thinking about their own life--

and what homework is due
what show is on later

the fight he just had
her gpa

the divorce

where to eat dinner

why he hasn't called

how much weight she wants to lose--

and I could not help but wonder in that moment

as life after life after life passed me

on that campus in a small town in a small state

in a big country in a very big world

(made tiny in comparison to an unbelievably huge universe

-and who knows what else beyond-)
i could not help but try to imagine

what the purpose and direction and point and joy

of my life would be if not to live for the God

who created the universe

(and whatever else lies beyond that)

and who also created the freckle in the middle of my palm

and the big tree we like to climb

and the way my sister laughs

and i felt small

but also filled with big sadness

for people who do not see there is an infinite bigness

and love to live for but

you have to widen your gaze farther than your own

tiny life-

and see the way the sun sets

and snow sparkles and how

puddles reflect neon lights

and rain drips off pine trees and the

way people really do give their lives

for the right thing and they

fight for justice and

understand the implications of a

forgiveness and love that has no conditions-

and then your life gets bigger

while you get smaller

and okay with being smaller because

you get that much more lost in Him.

William Carlos Williams Experiment

This is a poem by William Carlos Williams:

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

And this is my version (which my father thinks is quite hilarious. i was just writing quickly and this is what i came up with):

thought I’d say

that
I don’t want to leave

but you know that
after what happened
with the serving
spoons

we can’t both stay

here

we must dig and delve unceasingly

the cerulean sky hovered
tantalizingly close to the
blazing green hill
and the clouds on the shimmering
horizon sparkled and sparked with intensity
my eyes swam from the sheer
brightness of the landscape
i wanted to
reach out and trail my
fingers through the deep
vast blue and watch
the ripples roll to either
side of the sky.
when i squinted my swimming eyes
the colors ran together
like a Monet painting or a
rainy day
when the greens and blues
melt and slide into
blurred shapes and reflections
of what life was like
before the water.

Lines written in late spring, after you played me my favorite song on the guitar.

When you smile at me,
oh, I can’t bear it. I have to smile back
even if I am trying to play it cool.

Maybe it is cliché to talk about your smile.
or the fact that I can’t seem to pay attention
to anyone else
if you’re around.

But maybe the reason so many of these
thoughts I keep thinking are cliché
is not just because my thoughts
are trite and overused,
(however trite and overused they may be).

Maybe my thoughts are cliché
because there have been so many people
all around this world
who have felt this way about someone.
and there are only so many ways to describe that
butterflies in your stomach
walking on air
can’t seem to talk without
randomly having to say your name
feeling.

I just wish you didn’t have a girlfriend.

Revision: The View from Five Foot, Eleven Inches Tall

The tree in the front yard of my childhood home
doesn’t look as big as it used to.

In fact, I would be able to touch the big branch
I used to only dream of reaching
and I wouldn’t even have to stand on my tiptoes.

The world that seemed so full of wonder
doesn’t look as big as it used to, either.

As my I have grown, so has my
understanding that life doesn’t turn out
the way that you imagined it as a child.

But standing under this tree
in my old yard
under the same sun I stood under
so many years ago
I don’t feel that I’ve changed much at all.
I can feel the excitement of looking
up into the glorious blue sky
and knowing that if I reached the top
of the tree, I could
touch God’s fingertips with mine.

Trees keep you grounded.
They help you remain who you were.