Sunday, May 29, 2022

A Poem a Day, Week 21, May 21 to May 27

   A Poem a Day, Week 21, May 21 to May 27 2022

Welcome to Sifting the Rubble's weekly blog and podcast of my poem-a-day challenge for 2022.  I am your host, and poet, Emily Gibson.  The poems for the 21st week of the year, May 21 to May 27, celebrated the end of our bicycle tour and our transition home after six weeks on the road.  These poems bear a lot of weight, and not all from the natural struggles of big changes and milestones.  This week saw another school shooting in Uvalde, Texas, which made everything else pale in comparison.  

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And now, for this week's poems!


Poem #141,  The Familiar Welcomes Us Home

by Emily Gibson, May 21, 2022


After all the novelty

life on the road brings,

it is the normalcy, 

of knowing where everything is

that tells us we are home.

The colors of the living room,

All the clocks clicking in their way,

the sound of the hot water kettle.

The feel of our own sheets,

the smell upon opening our front door.

Driving my manual car with

the simplicity of its dashboard!

How Ber’s hooves sound on the gravel

and the sleek satin of his summer coat grown in.

All our spices, in the right drawer,

and the condiments in the fridge door.

The scolding Steller jay at our porch

hauling peanuts to plant in our lawn.

With reluctance and relief

I sink into the couch

and make a list for tomorrow.


About "The Familiar Welcomes Us Home": As we drove from Santa Barbara to Vallejo on Saturday, I found myself shifting between thoughts of loss related to the end of something wonderful (our bicycle tour) and thoughts of anticipation for all the things I missed about home. I used this poem to think about the aspects of home, both small and large, that I looked forward to, as a way to assuage the mounting yet normal grief that comes with the end of anything significant in our lives.



Poem #142, The Weight of Next

by Emily Gibson, May 22, 2022


Pedaling 6 weeks is less exhausting

then driving 8 hours to reach home.

The weight of return grows heavier

as the balance of miles pivots behind.


The to-do list threatens erasure 

of our on-the-road routine’s peace:

wake, eat, pack, 

pedal, drink, pedal,

pedal, eat, pedal,

shop, pedal, camp,

eat, sleep, repeat.


Don’t lose the hard-won space,

the reflection and growth

the understanding of personal strength.

Your resilience is real.

A year fighting back MS

To be able to pedal again.

You did it.

And now you figure out what’s next.

No rush, all in good time,

like the cadence of your pedals.


About "The Weight of Next": I expected transitioning back from 6 weeks of camping and living on my bicycle to be challenging. It certainly was after our last tour across the country. But this transition has been more difficult in many ways. So much of the last year has been just fighting back against MS, figuring out how to be healthy and strong so I could ride my bike. I did it. Now what?



Poem #143, Our Mountains 

by Emily Gibson, May 23, 2022










Arranged around this basin

Rise the grand glory of this land:

Our mountains.

From their asture perches

Of dramatic uplift or cold  spewn lava,

They gaze at us, and our hurry

The rush of our busy lives 

makes no sense.

I can feel them shrug and shake,

with their geologic perspective.

They remind me to consider

Why.


About "Our Mountains": Seeing the mountains and cinder cones of Central Oregon, I felt such a dramatic contrast from our time on the Pacific Coast. This land is different, and sometimes I long so deeply for what is familiar, with the green and growth and moisture of the coast, that I forget how this land speaks to me, too, just in a different voice. I loved that I missed this new homeland of mine.



Poem 144,  No 

by Emily Gibson, May 24, 2022


No.  

No-no-no-no.

Just NO.

Not again, not one more bullet

searing one more child’s lungs.

Our society’s festering wounds

on full display 

with each murderous rampage

fostered by easy access.

Like sap seeping from a tree

oozing over all in its path,

immobilizing and interring life,

gun violence colors our world

amber red.

Once happy memories

of school, shopping, subway

dissolve into

fear, anxiety, worry.

When is the next time?

Who is out there, hurting?

Where will the bodies get buried?

How do we hide?  

You can’t.  It’s everywhere.

Please no more.

Make it stop.


(photo credit Angus Veitch, from Flickr)


About "No": This poem was my attempt to put my anguish about the slaughter of children and educators in Uvaldi on paper. As a teacher who has gone through my share of active shooter drills, this is all I can say about it right now.



Poem 145,  Where Are the Birds? 

by Emily Gibson, May 25, 2022


https://photos.app.goo.gl/e7gKcZ3YmbdiCR6k7 


Our morning wakeup call 

for six weeks

in our tent

on the road,

heralded the day.

Each location, we awoke

to a new celebration.

I remember

New Brighton State Park.

Waves of birdsong

merged into our slumber,

each a new family

building like a freight train

until the baton passed to the next.

Nearly two hours

they drenched our ears

until the sun soaked us

with the new day.

This air is too quiet

here at home.

We live inside again.

I open the window

and hear one bird’s call

faint and faraway.  

It’s somewhat sad,

and not the same,

but it’s what we have.


About "Where are the Birds?": I woke up on this morning and missed our morning wakeup call, all closed in in our house as we are. I opened the window, hoping to hear a chorus, but it seemed silent. I lay down and listened, and soon I heard a lone bird, a robin I think, greeting the day. Not the crescendo of sound we experienced our last week in California, but enough.


Poem #146, The Color of Life is Green

by Emily Gibson, May 26, 2022


Every nook, ledge, hill and expense

Carpeted in a swath of vegetation.

Green that pierces your tiniest bones

The ones in your ears and toes.

A wavelength so lush, I can smell it

Through the closed car windows.

Burnt tree carcasses in blacks and grays

Provide background, intensify the color.

Remind this jaded mind of life’s insistence

And the impermanence of destruction.


About "The Color of Life is Green": Earlier, I wrote a poem about the destruction along the Santiam River Canyon, from a drive. This time, I was shocked by the green everywhere. I'm not sure if the blackened trees made it brighter, or if it is always that bright there. Earth and life will find a way. Looking back on the poem, I think it relates a bit to the terrible event in Texas, too. The impermanence of destruction.


Poem #147,  Quiet Competence 

by Emily Gibson, May 27, 2022


Quiet competence--

The ability to do what

Needs to be done

Without fanfare

Or boast,

With humility

And gratitude--

Makes the world a better place

for a moment.

Anywhere it appears

Give thanks, 

For it is humanity’s promise

This quiet competence.

About "Quiet Competence": I wrote this poem for Charley Snell and Russ White, who work with my horse, Ber. They both are expert practitioners in their fields, but they do so without a lot of fanfare. Just matter-of-fact competence.


That concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week!  I hope you enjoyed this collection of poems.  Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else.  Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week! 

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