Anywhere but in Between

It's been a while since I've posted here, so I thought I'd get back to it.  I participated in National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) again this year.  Though I didn't write every day that month, I did write a lot. I'm trying to re-commit to regular writing practice, whether poetry or journaling. It really helps me organize my thoughts and sort through what I'm feeling. So here's to continuing to practice that which is good for us.  Here is one of my favorite poems from my NaPoWriMo experience, about the most important album in my life:

25 years later

These lyrics are still

Heart tears deepest joy

Healing what my mouth

Cannot find right words for

Always searching

I was still in high school then

My final year

[I need a raincoat]

If I had known what was coming 

Maybe I could have...

Little protection from

The storm to come

[She must be tired of something]

How did they know

Arranging truth 

To fledgling power

I listened late

Portable CD player

Humming beside pillow

Carried delicately across

College campuses

One of clipped wings

Then thrust into freedom

[And I'm not ready for this sort of thing]

Life has a hunger that doesn't wait

Ready or not, here I come

Falling and flying and flailing 

Learning in sun soaked salty air

I still remember my toes in sand

When I need some earthly connection

21st century, L.A. became home

It was [August & Everything After] that year 

Album title matching song 

Released two and a half decades later

Knowing now to the core

[I belong anywhere but in between]

What I only guessed before

He's a big part of that

Adam & company, sure, but

I mean my partner in

Heart tears deepest joy

He loves this album, too

We planned a trip to a concert

That didn't happen

[It's the heart that matters more]

He recently made a playlist

Studio and live versions blended 

Still laughing these years later

How we found a dive bar

Beer and fried ravioli 

Because Adam was sick

[Mr. Jones and me / look into the future]

© 2019 Amber Keating, All Rights Reserved

How a King Bed Saved my Marriage

A nightmare to sleep next to, my grandma said
Most kids are, but eventually grow out of it?
My psyche is the shipwrecked shores of Aruba
So much debris still, anchored and rusting
Forever waiting to enchant and terrify
Each night, I am swashbuckling ghosts along these haunted decks
Mayhem, plunder, seeking
Treasure and revenge among every shadow
Brutal adventure
Back in reality, the only one beseiged
Is my sleepless husband
Knee, elbow, toenail, hipbone
So many cruel edges thrown about
Shivering of limbs
Discord coming not from creaking timbers
But from my very own beak
Parrot screeching squawking
As if I don't talk enough in daylight
My nightstand a collection of torture devices
One pulls my tongue out
Another blocks all nasal transmission
There's even a facial strap to hold it all together
My dream time version of an eye patch
It's a wonder I sleep as well as I do
© Amber Keating, 04.06.18

Misplaced

I have lost so many things in this life. Phone, keys (why can't I keep track of keys?), pens, emails, texts, boyfriends, books, clothes, girlfriends, laughter, sleep. I could count my years by what I've lost. They are numerous, yet less painful by far than losing you. Though really I'm not sure I ever had you. Ever knew you. Did you know me? Did you care? You gave me body and breath. These dark chocolate eyes, bubbling laugh, and milkwhite skin. A dimple just there when I smile. Oh you stole that smile so many times.  See what you made me do? No. Never. Not anything will you be. Were you jealous? I know your own life was so hard and empty. It left your heart the same. You rejoiced when I left. Reveled in finding my car still half full of my things, stealing it away under cover of creeping fog. There was nothing the police could do. It was in both our names. So many things I never saw again, thanks to you. The quilt Grandma made. The doll bed Dad made. Things handcrafted just for me, when you couldn't be bothered to keep a baby book. There were more losses. Fear. Over shoulder looking. Caring for everyone but me. Jumping to please. The fake smile saying I was fine when I was anything but. They took longer to lose, decades. When the facade of your love was gone in an instant. Overnight and over years, I was changed. But one thing I am glad of, I could never lose me.
© Amber Keating, 04.02.18

Singing and Searching

I am from mix tapes, from Barbies, and pegged jeans.

I am from the nation's breadbasket, alive with color and blossoming with migrant farm workers.

I am from the orange groves, the endless sea of corn and cotton.

I am from weekends of slowcooked pasta sauce and alcoholism, from Cora and Lucretia and the Ross Family Clan.

I am from boisterous singing and always searching for things to fix.

From you'll never amount to anything and I'm your mother I'll abuse you if I want..

I am from Maranatha charismatics and disciplined Methodists.

I'm from a cracked golden center, people who hid faerie wings on trips through Ellis Island, from homemade Chicken Diablo and canned Beefaroni.

From women with perfect coiffures and screaming matches when they'd drink too much, from Dad's Bible stories, swamp cooler lullabies, and Sock of the Month Club.

I am from photographs torn in anger, as broken as our hearts that may never heal, from antiques piled behind polished wood and glass, from stories we've heard a thousand times and will beg to hear again.

Untitled - March Poem 13

Day 13 of #poemadaymarch. I don't know what this one is called. It gave me a run for my money today!
~~~~~
Jewels spilling from gaping soul
Catching flight on fiery beams
Diamonds coveted for
Brilliant shine
Also cut through hardest
Looking glass eyes
These words, soul gems
Certain to yield discomfort
Slicing open tightly held
Steely hearts
Demanding
Pop psych positive
*psyyyych*
Remember
Diamonds are formed with
Enormous pressure
Earth, a mill of rotting flora
Recast as chalky soot
Then treasure
Pearls from pebbles
And endless agitation
Maybe we need a rubbing raw
To find the prize inside
Shaken, stirred, muddled
Until we vomit pearls of
Wisdom from every unstaunched wound
© Amber Keating, 03.13.18

Heart Space

She is small and mighty
Sitting in the backseat
Choking back tears
Her life depends on it

No desire to go back with them
A house of horrors waits
But the adults decided why
Who said parents know best?

What did she do to deserve this nothing
But she can't know that yet
So she clenches jaw bites tongue
Holds breath to survive

Then sometimes she's in the front seat
Again holding back tears
Staring out the window
Pulling in breath with tiny sips

A woman now who can't discern
Sweet soft moments from
Danger EVERYWHERE every turn
Every feeling a threat she runs while holding still

He can't understand either why she turns away
When he needs something
She can't give anything
Depleted ashamed holding indownupoutaway

Because other men fuck her own mother
Were monsters the very real kind
Wherever she goes there they are
Yellow sick oozing angry wound

Healing happens slowly
Too much goddamn work
Small mighty girl turned
Powerful woman queen

She holds the world in her heart
Every crack sewn back in place
made space for lonely lost unloved unheard
Including herself