Web Toolbar by Wibiya Shelby Rebecca: March 2012

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Because you asked for it...

This is a concrete poem. I wrote it while my dad was in the hospital back in 1999. I was at my Aunt Truth's house sitting cross legged on the leather couch with a view of her kitchen with it's many chickens tucked into  nooks and crannies. I was, once again, struck by the beauty of my past. Not everything was "bad" then. That's the irony of the past, it's both good and bad in the most awkward of times. I remember seeing this mountain on trips to Anchorage with Mom and Joe. Depending on the time of year we would either be counting moose or rabbits on our way there. At school, I heard a legend about this mountain and it never left me. What a beautiful thing to see on your way to town.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Poetry and Lies People Tell

Some things, I have to admit, are just too complicated, too immensely horrible to even wrap my mind around. All these years, I had to simplify this--make it cut and dry--so that I could move on with my life but right at this moment I want something--I want answers. I wish I knew the truth. I just needed to say that.

Here are some poems I wrote back when I was an undergrad. These are about my life.


Long lake limbs,
slim middle paraded,
wind strummed,
composed—grow effects.
Not all attached—
they stay
anyway. Drawn,
not for lack
of wingspan—
A comfort pillow
of crests,
jumping pads,
houses on
wheels anchored.
Toes crinkled
and wobbly, sustain
the deck for
white bread
floating kindly.