domestic(ated) bliss

i.

is domestic bliss just a state of

brain-spun confusion?

a mindset in which we’ve convinced ourselves

there is a paradigm of false perfection

we’ve domesticated our minds

roped them in to those everyday tasks

that the bliss is just a stupor

down to the cellular level

happiness is found in a tear storm

inducing mundanity

 

ii.

you infuriate me with your love of

the brilliant boredom of bliss

you sound so contented and i want you to be restless

i want you to be like me

to be messy on the inside

i want to share those secret disappointments with you

but you smile through your saccharine words

the one-liner that reveals nothing

the photo that is so preternaturally perfect that

i must send a twinning one of my own

the smile doesn’t reach my eyes

i imagine that yours is the same

 

iii.

never thought my domestic life would be

like an old hollywood musical

a lot less sparkle, a lot more dusty-dingy

not entirely devoid of self-made melodrama

i find myself strangely breaking into song

a fugue state in which i dance an 8-beat phrase

to the pop-hits of the day

to fill the space between loads of laundry

and emptying the dishwasher

reorganizing props for the millionth time

setting the stage for cereal box reality

 

 

(written 13 april/8 may 2018)

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no. 107

did you think that i had disappeared?

oh my dearest,

in the off-chance you wondered at my absence

i am still here

somewhere between up and down, right and left

suspended in thought, preoccupied in stillness

but happily here, nonetheless

as you see,

my feet have come to light upon the ground

finally

i will try not to depart too soon

for our mutual liking, hoping that

you are still here

maybe returned from your own journey?

were you not dallying in the clouds?

making friends with the moon and stars?

seeking audience with the sun?

no, you say,

you were just waiting patiently for

my return.

written 5 november 2018

no. 106

preserved

today you brought me written words instead of flowers

each syllable a precious petal, pearly

i would not let them wither,

rather than putting them in a heart-shaped vase

cut crystal emotions amplifying their blooming declarations

i took those words, cut them from their papery confines

with delicate embroidery scissors, exquisite in their sharpness

and with the caution of a philatelist, used miniature tongs

to affix them in a most secret of stores

a diary in which i documented all your acts

 

(which some say should speak louder)

 

words, simple yet somehow convoluted

but yours instead of mine

i pressed them like single windblown wildflowers

preserved, stamp-like, between pages

they are more valuable to me

than bouquets

(written 11 september 2018)

no. 102

monday

does the universe hold something against monday

an artificial organization of time has doomed that day

to be forever vilified by all but eager-to-please school children

and those who have no sense of the ordering of calendars

long ago before gregory and julius

before the compartmentalization of time

we rose with the sun and lived by the cycles of the moon

and monday never existed

i wonder were we happier then, or merely not as disappointed

by the passage of time and the inevitability of its running out

were we still obsessed with busy-ness and weighted down

by expectations unfulfilled

did accomplishments mean anything

or did we just exist

(written 16 april 2018)

no. 101

june at 60.9929° n, 24.4590° e

today i had to look for my cold-weather sweater

but settled for a spring cardigan, a light leather jacket

it seems that summer has deemed this region beneath her

and, deciding to abandon us for more appropriate latitudes

has given over to the swift siberian winds blowing from the east

green things protest, even the plants on the sill

have shriveled up overnight by the open window

which only yesterday provided relief from the heavy heat

the trees are no match for the tortuous gale

they relinquish twigs reluctantly, screaming and moaning

and i must don the winter coat i had only just shed

in the shallows of a sun-warmed lake

we thought it would last, that heat that toasted our bones

that coaxed thin pearls of perspiration from our upper lips

it made us want to discard the lightest clothing

and prance around in the nude by the water’s edge

it made us human again after such a long season as

bundled-up bears, hibernating, grumbling in our somnambulist

strides from place to place, awaiting the rare golden months

when we could bask, if only for a little while

(written 4 june 2018)

mundane musing the thirty-seventh

partner-less

i am the finder of lost socks

when you live in a country this far north

hand-knit socks, lonely or in pairs

 

abandoned

 

are uncovered when the last of the snow has melted

they reappear in bushes and on roadsides

i wonder how their owners parted with them

they remind me that

winter always hides under spring

 

once, i picked up a discovered sock

(it was fashioned in my favorite colorway)

and against my better judgement

washed it and imagined turning it

into something useful, more beautiful:

 

a hobby horse

a cellphone holder

a sock monkey

 

much as winter snow

gives way to spring flowers

(written 30 april 2018)

now that 100 is breached…

…i’m going to take a little hiatus

dear readers, this will only be a break of sorts.  by this, i mean that i will not post every day, but only as the spirit moves me.  there’s a lot of exciting transitioning going on in my neck of the woods, so i may be distracted.  and of course, in the mean time, i will indeed be reading and writing poetry to keep in form.  and then, when i least expect it, there will be time to post every day again…

cheers!

mariahv (hupsutupsu)