I wish
my mother sighed
wishing doesn’t
make it so
desperate,
deep inside
I wanted yearnings
to come true
she stole
enchantment—
where I wish it,
tap it with my wand
and lo!
it comes to pass
although she was right,
the means
were heavy handed
permit the child her fancy
filled with beating wings
and potions where poof!
problems vanish
and dreams come true
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
multiplicities
communities inside—
the scared, the crank
wise elder and protectors
a whole town
struggling to agree
one wants to be bold
another seeks freedom
this one needs safety
at any cost to the whole
security wins
she’s young and drowning
in fear iced with anguish—
the structure takes shape
to protect her
some hide in the undergrowth
others strike a brash pose
unruly, uneven peace
invite them to speak
encourage one at a time
ask this one to come forward
that one to step back
offer respect be clear
that you love them
they’re you, after all
tangled
doing their best
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
but unique
yes, we seem different
it doesn’t have to mean
trouble
your world prefers spicy
mine, calmer fare
you grow red beans
I favor rice
you pray to Krishna
I, the ineffable
yet we all
love our children
we age and we die
so what do you say—
may I learn from you
and you from me?
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
rocky night
the chainsaw snoring
next to me
I had to go elsewhere
still couldn’t sleep
almost one a.m.
my cellphone rang
late-night pocket call
my husband came
to get me softly said
why not come back to bed
by then our pup
bright-eyed awake
begging to go out
chillfresh
and blustery rain
slipped back in bed
grateful it’s warm
then past four
it starts again
happy restless dog
and groggy man
oh well I’ll just get up
and write a poem
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
dismantling
with attentive care
dismantling
the puzzle
of who I became
a little too cautious
a little too tight
as a four-year-old
I did my best
metabolized some
hid away the rest
a child’s safety net
it’s strange to think
of a youngster’s work
guarding the marrow
of who I was
this lifelong task
it takes tenderness
finding the parts
turning them over
with wonder
fitting them together
anew
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
passing away
my life, partner, pup
and my son will all
pass away—
we are passing away
each moment
lost to the next
never to return
but through memory
where kindness
and sorrow reside
we draw close
to what’s lost
yet can’t touch it
even that recall
changes and fades—
everything
going, going, gone
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the first birth
age nine
our fat black Lab
panting, pacing
finally she flops
in the wooden box
my father built
and mom lined
with old towels
look, she says
watch her belly
see it ripple?
I kneel down
breathless, amazed
my throat so dry
at the vast unknown
Ebony opens back there
widens, I see something
moist, glistening
then she bears down
with a groan
and it’s out
she turns to it
nosing, licking
a tiny face appears
from the glassy sac
its blunt nose
smushed-tight eyes
and folded ears
a teeny squeak
and the puppy moves—
clapping and hooting
from outside the pen
my big brother
gives a hard shove
for space at the wire
not this time
I push back—my spot!
let her be, mom says
she’s the doggie one
for once he obeys
and it all starts again
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
bridge night
age eleven
after their friends
went home, they
dismissed devotion
made fun of faith—
from my place
on the steps
I overheard
my vessel of respect
already chipped
shattered into shards
I crafted a shell
and tucked inside
they mustn’t see
mustn’t know
but I couldn’t hide—
how to shroud
what’s essential?
my core,
misunderstood
what had always been so
now known to me
a tender recognition
no forthcoming guidance
I adjusted my shoulders
my job
my job alone
finding my way
2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
this poem came from a prompt in a class
with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer:
Write the history of your life as if it’s a film,
and you are watching it in reverse.
life backwards
she’s old
seventy-eight,
a long, long history
yet life is opening
thrown wide by poems
at sixty-six
she left the northwest
returned to California
where she had raised
her lame son
oh, the heartbreak
but at forty-two
met her love
they married, still are—
happy after
three failed marriages
where she learned
what she needed
at great cost
to her heart:
kindness
support
non-judgment
unconditional love
at twenty-five
discovered her path
after the hard lessons
of atheist parents
who squashed her
when she was four
betrayed by a grownup
she thought was a friend
draining trust
a break in belonging
yet she found her way
a late bloomer, thriving—
transformed pain
into remedy
mended the bowl of herself
with rivulets of gold
living kintsugi
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
ordinary moment
cloud color fades—
now my husband
the family cook
stirs what’s simmering
before settling
in his recliner
the aroma wraps us
we share a ginger beer
crackers and smoked
oysters
chat about the day
as we have 12,000 times
he rises to check the stove
brushes my shoulder
with his fingertip
oh, the commonplace
how many more?
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 