Hi! This year (2022), I've decided to share a poem on my blog and podcast and read it aloud. It's all a part of my quest to be brave and apparently the things that I'm scared about still include:
Thanks for being here with me and cheering me on and I hope that you can become braver this year, too!
Parent Not Expected I know nothing about the weather I was born in or how the sky whispered or stormed. I know nothing about the man who helped make me, other than his name and he smoked cigarettes, constantly, until he got skin cancer. I know his mother had thick, dark hair, immigrated here, which was so different from the story of my birth certificate and the ancestors who had been here for centuries, taking their time to take the land. I know nothing about how my mother struggled to hide the secret of me. My nose gave me away. My quirky clothes gave me away. The way I didn’t fit gave me away. I know nothing of the people who came before me on one side, grandparents, great-grandparents, random uncles and aunts, their pains. They are unknown stories. They are wind that I can’t feel. They are stars that don’t tell their secrets. I am their secret and they are mine.Hey, thanks for listening to Carrie Does Poems. These podcasts and more writing tips are at Carrie’s website, carriejonesbooks.blog. There’s also a donation button there. Even a dollar inspires a happy dance in Carrie, so thank you for your support. The music you hear is made available through the creative commons and it’s a bit of a shortened track from the fantastic Eric Van der Westen and the track is called A Feather and off the album The Crown Lobster Trilogy.
While Carrie only posts poems weekly here, she has them (in written form) almost every weekday over on Medium. You should check it out!
https://freemusicarchive.org/music/eric-van-der-westen/the-crown-lobster-trilogy-selection
A poem You can hear the rain in the background. Apologies. It is impressively stormy here today.
Imprinted The tight curls on her lover’s neck? Lord studied them. Made litanies to survive. Whitman, of course, sang of electric bodies and armies...
Sometimes when I read a poem, Right after, I have to find another and plunge Down between its lines, a better kind of baptism,...