I am always writing. There are poems that stay with me because they were written at a certain time in my life, and I remember that time well. Others I remember for the topic I was writing about. Some poems because I tried a new style and others because of how horrible they were. Others have had their day in the sun, maybe being read at a workshop or reading and others because they were written for someone specific or something. I don’t have many poems like the poem I’m going to share today. It’s strange because when I wrote this poem, it felt very far away from me. I have poems that use imagery of ‘space,’ but this one does not really, yet I remember it just sort of spilled out of me. I then titled it “Remission.” I don’t really know why except that when I finished writing it, I felt like I imagine ‘remission’ to feel like. It stays with me. It’s not a poem I quickly forget. Part of me feels like it belongs in another galaxy or something. I see it as a moon to some planet far away that shines brightly and makes a lot of sense to the people there; however, I’d be totally lying if I said it makes total sense to me. I know inside of it at it’s core is a lot of truth. This is a poem that just hits me. Perhaps, there is a lot of unconscious in this poem and it made itself visible and I relate to that. I’m not sure. I just know I wrote this poem, titled it “Remission,” and it feels a million miles away from me in space, yet somehow we’re deeply connected. I’ve always felt it was a strange sort of love poem. I just don’t know to who. Again, I have an affinity for this poem, which is strange because I don’t really think it’s amazing or totally understand it. In fact, when I’m choosing a piece to share, I usually have several ideas. This morning, I had something totally different planned and typed and was going to put it up tonight. Then I got home and, again, I can’t tell you what it was. It was like it popped up into my head and just said, “Tonights my night to be posted.” The strangest thing is, I have always known I’d post it, even though I can’t say why. I know it’s there, but it’s never been considered as an option until today. When I got home and was getting ready to post what I was going to post today, it just sort of moved in front of that idea, almost eclipsing it. Eclipses are rare especially total lunar eclipses, so I figure there must be a reason that I am not privy to of why this poem wanted to come today. So here due to it’s own demands, is “Remission.”


When I hemorrhaged softly 

I whispered, 

One more year and this will be stigmata.

Starlight and rain and the anthem 

Of the soft whispering night train

Whispering as it passed, I’m going to miss you 

When I go. We

Put the baby to sleep 

As a fall of rain promised 

She could hold more autumn

Then our human could.

I said I never loved you.

I said We’d never meet at weddings, births, or funerals.

I acted like a courtyard for the exorcism of courtesans.

Still you knew me as a hush,

A steamy ambulance window 

Where breath still grows large enough to fog.

The clean glide of a prescient wind

Running abundant toward a meadow I could love you in.

You sense my eyes are closed-

The closer to you, the more I need to see.

It’s the secrets within us that make us large and small.

I deserted the drink of God.

I had to. To hear miracles

Was simply not enough.

I belonged to memories 

That were like laughs that flitted around me

That never belonged to me. Rhythms

Of rustled trees and serenades of rain 

Did nothing to cleanse me.

I sent away for something.

Gave a little prayer one humid night

Through my sad, slippery merman dance

To the homeless Tahitian band

Playing on the street night after night.

I just let my body hum and whir

Every Amen I laid upon lips,

Every poem and prayer wishful and hurting

Every drought ridden land, begging to know

How to make rain again and feel growth, every

Tree that bears so much weight of heavy fruit

How does it still take on rain so blessedly. I wanted to know

In a constant state of remission, how

The world rots and hums

And still finds patience and love

To bless us with things sweet as lilacs.

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