Traveling Baggage

•May 14, 2013 • 8 Comments

Oh that I were like my suitcase
Correctly crafted, quiet, still
Emptied for the next occasion, simply waiting to be filled

Oh that I were built for travel
Sturdy edges made for holding up
Designed by some creator, to buckle just enough

Oh that I were easily mobile
Wheels instead of feet to move
Whatever odd directions, a traveling hand might choose

Oh but I am human
Stitched with stressed anticipation
Filled already to capacity, frayed with vacation expectation

Oh but like my suitcase
I just might allow for some small spaces
To carry home some lovely crap, from some new exotic places

–By Me (April Resnick)

the-red-suitcase-joana-kruse

The Red Suitcase, by Joana Kruse

Posted in Humanity, Meditation, Poetry, Whimsy
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One Year

•May 13, 2013 • 1 Comment

Or one day,
How much can change?

It seems to me not only change,
But more myself these days.

Coming back to who I was,
When I once believed I could be great.

In my skin and my own space,
Even truly in my own mistakes.

I love this life, its beautiful pain,
Discovering it all again and again.

When this is gone I hope they say,
I wallowed and reveled in it all the way.

One year, or one day,
So much can change.

– by Me (April Resnick)

20130512-175309.jpg

Dance of Passion, by Michelle Wiarda

Thank you to everyone who has been reading since the beginning, one year ago, and thank you to everyone who has joined me along the way.  This has been a wonderful year of publicly writing and documenting and sharing my experiences.  This little experiment of mine has been a fruitful one and I hope it continues.  Much love to you all, April Resnick.

Here is a link to that very first poem one year ago today: http://sometimesihatemycat.com/2012/05/13/the-rabbit/

Posted in body, Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Poetry, Writing
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My Promise (repost for Mother’s Day)

•May 12, 2013 • 6 Comments

I cannot give you normal,

Sweet girl,

It is not written in our DNA.

 

I cannot give you perfection,

Firecracker,

It does not exist.

 

I cannot give you siblings,

One and only,

I am aware of my own resources.

 

I cannot give you God,

“My little witch,”

When I cannot find him myself.

 

I cannot give you ALL of me,

Dear daughter,

Without compromising us.

 

I cannot give you forever,

Butterfly,

We must learn to value now.

 

But I can give you my presence,

Baby girl,

I am here.

 

While I can will it,

Leia,

I will show up for you.

–by Me (April Resnick)

MotherDaughter1

Posted in Family, God, Humanity, Identity, Motherhood, Poetry
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Passing Storm

•May 8, 2013 • 5 Comments

This morning I blot out the sun
Low and heavy like the clouds
Gathered too much of the rising world
And now it is time to pour it out

A weighty threshold has been reached
Those million drops of nothing full
Evaporated from the light and heat
Changing states inside my skull

I grumble and I crack the sky
I open up and let Hell loose
Slow down the plans you thought you made
As you stand drenched in solvent truth

There is no way around this rain
Wait, it will be finished when I’m empty
Dissolved and waiting to be formed again
From earthly tears I carry with me

– by Me (April Resnick)

raining_in_my_mind_by_ayvhan27-d2yvjym

Raining in my mind, by ayvhan27, from deviantart.com

Posted in Family, Humanity, Identity, Marriage, Meditation, Nature, Poetry, Writing
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Seeing Before Words

•May 6, 2013 • 7 Comments

The wider world gets fuzzy
When I take off my glasses
Drink that third glass of wine
During my meditation
If I close my eyes no fog remains
But fog of brain
For now the weight of frames
On the bridge of my nose
Is enough
To cause minuscule muscles to constrict
Carrying an ache upward between my eyebrows
I cannot help but be made happy by this
A friendly cough welcomed
Because it is more expected than not
A motor made for freezing
Adds a humming that soothes
Even as it starts and stops
I find comfort in the settling in
To the fog, the ache, the happiness, the cough, the humming
It seems I need this space to feel, once seen
Before the words appear
And we speak again

– by Me

20130506-133741.jpg
Portrait by Melissa Thorpe, Hilltop Hausfrau on Etsy

inspired by a prompt from the book, Ways of Seeing by John Berger

Posted in Food & Wine, Humanity, Meditation, Poetry, Writing
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Time In The City

•May 2, 2013 • 1 Comment

Early or Mid century ice house
Behemoth made of steel and shelving
Painted white to reflect the sun
Hollowed out to freeze and hold
Blocks or cubes,  2.50 or 1.50
Chipped black script still exclaims
Weeds and rust now attempt to give it away
Slow growth creeping across yellowed enamel
Reaching into once airtight seams
Overhanging branches retreat in reverse
Rotted wooden fence rebuilds itself
In sepia tones
I can see a line of memories waiting
Melting in the Philadelphia summer
Chatting and dripping
Swatting at bugs, wiping sweat, and shifting weight
While wives and children cook at home
Watching the heat rise, the milk spoil,
And dust swirl too little
On the occasional breeze
Waiting for ice blocks chiseled, picked, and hauled
To make their way on tired shoulders
Triumphant
Color returns at once with a blink
Pink cherry blossoms stretch, shrug, and fall
Primary rainbow tulips yawn toward the sinking sun
My favorite flowers treasured
Because they are here and gone so soon, rarity
A blood orange harvest moon in spring
Lumbering over the horizon grinning

– by Me

MoonPhiladelphia

harvest moon and ben franklin bridge philadelphia, taken by Paul J Everett

Posted in Family, Humanity, Nature, Poetry
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Gray Day

•April 29, 2013 • 3 Comments

Nothing

But rain dripping deep and hollow

On the roof a heartbeat

Irregularly echoing

 

Nothing

But cold coffee in my mug

Reheated and forgotten and reheated

And forgotten

 

Nothing

But growling in my stomach

Yelling at me to be filled

Hotly knotted

 

Nothing

But the smallest of blood flow reaching my toes

Unnoticed at first with standing

Moments later, near collapse

 

Nothing

Published, but drafts of poems

Edited and waiting

Me delaying

 

Nothing

To do today but file away

The moments as they dribble past

Gray and drab

 – by Me

GrayDay Trees, Clouds, Gray Day by Tom Brown

Posted in Humanity, Identity, Meditation, Nature, Poetry, Writing
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