keeping spirits up

keeping spirits up
note from self

the work—
applying what she
knows to be true
kindness required
there’s injury, pain
life’s a slog
every minutia
a class in attention

he makes the mocha
she knocks it over
floods the counter
rivers the drawer
spatters oak floor
one-handed, she
snatches the laptop
out of the wave
unscathed

chance for harsh
words—none
or blame
doesn’t happen
they work
in tandem
she “I’m sorry”
he “no need”
they remake
the mocha

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

listens

listens
note from self

she sinks her attention
inside where it’s broken—
besides all the fractures
and the shocking bruise
what’s going on in there?
tender throbs, grousing
muscles, a relentless
pulsing fuss
move in, closer in—
the fuss and throb shift
to a purpling ache
she drops deeper
softens and listens
attends with care
this is her body,
her only earth suit—
the surgeon cuts and
places and pins and plates
but she must do the healing
knit the bones, soothe
tendons and ligaments
love them back to life

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

the gift of friendship

the gift of friendship
note to self

when a friend
comprehends the
deepest plane of you—
the heart space where
no words are required
and delight dances—
you have been given a
precious, shared jewel

time and distance may facet
that gem, augment its grace
how the angles redirect the light
if it’s a true friend, one who
lives in being with you
that jewel cannot be harmed—
it is safe, reliable, eternal

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—please understand that many will be rewritten.

a prayer

a prayer
note to self

don’t play hide and seek with me
instead, come face to face
split me open
pour me out
so all that’s left is
grace

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

the body consort

the body consort
note to self

she’s been with you for
27,990 energetic days—
she’s slouchy about the edges
bent here, broken there
a taken-for-granted friend

you’re beholden to her—
she’s overused, yet ferried
you here—for decades
she was treated like a
beat-up truck rather than
the marvel you now know
her to be—oh! to go back
seven decades and reframe
how you dance together

but no second chances
and no time for regrets
go gentle, most of all in
thought—and remember—
she is your body consort

with thanks to Kay Crista for the title

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

my father’s closet

(this was my father’s birthday—he would be 108 today)

my father’s closet

I don’t know how
to write about my father
forty-four years gone
he’s still a puzzle
a large, lonely man
who drank too much
and hid it well

but I recall the bouquet
of his walk-in closet
musky and male
suits and sport coats
tidy, shoes polished
till they reflected light
and ties—so many ties
myriad colors, wool and silk
I liked to sit in there
under the jackets and
drink in his spice
it all seemed so foreign

I wanted to know him but
that was not possible
his signature—arctic
wiry hair, his pride
amidst balding friends—
he carried a briefcase
bought plush cars with
skin-soft seats
but what were his thoughts?
his cares?
his dreams?

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

open your hands

open your hands
note to self

what might you solicit
that isn’t present here?
look! majesty, everywhere
mounding alabaster clouds
a dust of wind through oak
your friend’s gentle hug
the nudge of a dog’s nose
wide-open pond lilies, the
scent of Daphne in winter
then turn inward—look!
blazing consciousness
open your hands

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

this embodiment business

this embodiment business
note to self

you may not accept it, but
you are a condensation
of consciousness, a blaze
of light radiating everywhere—
although you can trust
me on this, don’t—

look for yourself, a wiser
plan—make it your own
it’s easier to remain awake
than awaken from trance
so once you catch the inkling
—the flash that kindles the rim

of your understanding—be
unflinching, stand square
allow your world to turn
inside out, a breathing Möbius
strip—unfolding has its own
propulsion and will not stop

truth extracts a price—it
requires all of your yearnings
your attachments, and your
misunderstandings to be seen
through and unbound—then you
may enter the marrow of love

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

bridge

bridge
note to self

we’re an experiment
consciousness plays—
“here, human family
be a bridge between
that which you are and
the embodied world”

an elegant try but
we lost ourselves—forgot
what we’re made of and
from whence we come
that made all the difference
it’s messy here—the
cosmos showcasing
chaos—societies evert in
a heartbeat—I weep
and rail for our cobalt home

then shift to look for beauty
my sustenance—
flaming California
poppies, the bounding
whippet’s elegance
flash of emerald at a
hummer’s throat as
it sips sweet elixir
my friend’s clear heart
and always, grace

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

slender moments

slender moments

note to self

suspended moments—
vivid, lucid
unambiguous

your Prius shoved
upside down dead bug
wheels spinning

he sauntered down
the path—heart
recognition flames

thrown from a
horse, floating in
air—time arrests

in less than a breath
beliefs, a card house
exposed, collapse

you are cast
into the big field
give over, soften

unambiguous
vivid, lucid—those
slender moments

thank you to Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer for “slender moments”

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.