Amnesia in Retrograde

 

Amnesia in Retrograde

Daylight makes me
a shadow on the wall
unseen and unheard, except
by rote.
I’ve learned my lines,
but every now and again I 
slip up, to the audience of puzzled looks
and cold shoulders.
I knew how to be alone,
protected by the warmth of youthful
energy, but now
I slow down
blood pressure static
and I creep around, creepily
tilting at windmills.
Or just tilting.
Here, in the bright,
I forget more than just names and dates,
but I console myself that I never 
had the chance to learn who I was,
because people always told me what they wanted.
I don’t realize that none of those 
things are true, until after the midnight hour.
In dreams, I remember the girl I was,
and the woman I was supposed to be.
All rainbows and unicorns and hope
for a kick-ass maybe someday.
It’s taking even longer to find her;
a 4 a.m. quest through never-ending thrift stores,
lost all over again with the punishing sun.
Each night, I set sail again,
traipse through forests,
get a letter to Hogwarts,
read my just-so story, where my past
Has never happened.
Last night, though,
gratification was instant.
I remembered you,
deep brown with that wilding blaze,
and I held on for dear life, 
breathing in your horse-warm smell
as you take me to my lost ones.
“I’ll be home soon,” I whisper,
as the jealous dawn steals love from me.

©2018 Willow Croft

 

Definition of Wilding from Merriam-Webster: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/wilding

 

This poem was based on a dream and got the final gloss of inspiration (in response to) When Women Inspire’s post on January 5 (And, yes, Christy B., it’s typically melancholy! *laugh*). 

https://whenwomeninspire.com/2018/01/05/want-change-about-you-job-health/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quantum Singularity Contest!

My lovely holiday newsletter is ready to send out!

Even better, I decided to create a wishes-come-true contest to go with it (A signed copy of my poetry book to eleven lucky winners!). Details will be in my email newsletter, so sign up by using the link to the right on the widgets sidebar  (MailChimp), or go here.

Good luck in the contest!

Happy holidays, and have a lovely winter season to all my follower friends!

The Stone Field

 

The Stone Field

Broken stones

are still stones.

I have become something else

with the wind and storms and rain

broken and not reborn, here.

Still, you seek me out through our

thousand lifetimes of separation and

the resultant scarring.

But only here are we together

on the starlit stones

and just as icy on our skin.

This realm is one of feathers and flight and all things impossible

through magic

through wishes and coins and the sacrifice of flames

that would have warmed us

called us into being through all realms

and time

and thought

if only we knew

how to heal a stone.

–Willow Croft

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ghost Stories?

 

So, as if I don’t have enough to do, I’ve been hit by the inspiration muse for my next book of poetry. At least for the overarching theme of it (like how galaxies/alternate dimensions/astrophysics/time travel was for the last book). I was thinking maybe the paranormal/unexplained/ghosts, but have the poems revolve around lost people/opportunities, especially since I have been pretty chimerical throughout my life, and a lot got jettisoned and left behind in the wake.

“I liked you the way you were. I liked your walls. I liked being the one to bring them down.” Hook, Once Upon a Time

Here’s a sample one:

The Secret Life of a Chimera

I admit,

you were one of the ones

I had little regret about

and didn’t count you

among my secrets-to-the-grave.

There was zero nostalgia there

except maybe that time

we went to another dimension

with the help of…synthpop, was it?

Whatever it was, it was a beautiful step

out of time, on that Vermont road

clean and pure and transcendental as ice

that, luckily, wasn’t also on the road.

That’s how I remember you.

I will never admit that I think about

the play you wrote that saw the

me no-one else did.

But last night, out of nowhere,

out of years bygone,

I dreamed of you,

pineapple bright,

with a unicorn heart

full of rainbow love, just for me.

And I let you hold me, prickly pineapples

and prickly me and all.

I don’t know what was more confusing

that I let you in, or that I let you go.

And I wished another impossible wish

(they’re the only kind I’m allowed)

that you were the one to break down my walls.

 

–Willow Croft

 

The Wolf Transcends

 

The Wolf Transcends

At night

I am who I was supposed to be

Here, I have worth

cherished beyond all hate

and I am allowed

to be creative

to excel

to be right,

and real

where I’m never punished for being good

but it’s only a dream

a false promise of home, yet

still, I wait to be one

with the wolves

in the snow and ice and ravenflights

If only I can get through another day.

–Willow Croft (11:11)

 

 

 

Surreal (Slow, Sleepy, Sad, Sullen) Sunday

Today is Food Stamps day, so I have go shopping. I dread shopping. Even though I have my list handy (that I work on in the weeks in-between food stamp days), I always seem to forget something. Food Stamp Day has fallen on a weird day. It’s come after the Saturday Farmers’ Market, so I can’t get all my shopping done in one fell swoop. Poor me, right? *wry laugh* Imagine if I was a gatherer in a hunter/gatherer community. “Oh dear, I forgot to get some wild garlic. Now, I’ll have to go back out and get some.” And then I would get eaten by some fierce nocturnal animal because the garlic spot was miles away and I didn’t make it back before dark. Not that the stew wouldn’t have been burned by then, anyway.

I had a weird dream I had moved into a new apartment, but I was forgetting something (a hint of the grocery shopping day looming?) in the move. The apartment was in a European city, maybe in Germany, and I was embroiled in this undefined mystery. Plus, I was trying to get settled into my apartment community, and I kept forgetting to take stuff to my new apartment from the place I live in now. Like one of my cats. Like a bed, which I brought anyway, and then realised there was a bed already in the apartment. I was trying to get everything sorted so that I could begin my new life, but I kept screwing it up. I never did get things fixed, because I heard one of the feral cats outside and it woke me up.

I miss having a indoor cat companion so much. Although, I realise I’ve been really lucky (or smart) in the cats I picked. For the most part, they were such good kitties. They were also older cats by the time I adopted them. Everybody seems to want kittens, but I can’t imagine why. Older cats are fantastic…sweet, calm, mellow, patient, loving. Kittens can be that, too, eventually, but somebody I know just took in a kitten that showed up at their house. But they get into everything. Running all over like a demon, jumping all over you, attacking you in play nonstop. This little sucker even managed to tear off the sofa cover in about a few minutes’ time. Better them than me, seriously, as cute as the little monster is.

I am officially a fan of older, more sedate cats–the ones that so often get overlooked in shelters. Even senior cats rock! It’s so nice to have them just curl up on your lap for hours, or curl up with you at night. They embody meditation and stillness and just radiate peace and contentment. Comfort in a little purr-body.

Find your old-kitty gem at a shelter today. Or an older dog. #AdoptDontShop https://www.petfinder.com/

I mean, look at these sweet loves. How can you resist?

https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/39403911

https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/39403908

Fever Dreams

Fever Dreams

In the real world,
I am maddened by my
own mind.
In my dreams,
even such as painted
by fever,
logic holds sway
and everything is as it should be
including myself.
The only thing missing is you,
in both my worlds.
You are only found in the
in-between,
and the fever is talking me
into believing you are real,
into believing that we are real,
and this,
this hope might be my final undoing.

–Willow Croft