Wrestling the night
ragged
fringed
fire light
twisting
turning
churning
it’s a roiling thing
this toiling hymn I sing
scratching every surface
just to feel
my own pulsing blood race
to know
just to show
I’m still alive
I’m still
dear God
I’m still
wrestling the night
~KendraLynn 3/23/19 ©
Photographer unknown. Titled on Pinterest as “Wrestling the Night”, so this poem ensued.
I burned
my cursed diary
I buried
my broken heart
watched its fading beat
felt its pulse
under my tender feet
silver shovel deep
it’s a parading funeral
I can no longer keep
pigtails cut
weep
time for this woman
to claim her keep
blank pages wait
angels hold their breath
in midnight’s haste
~KendraLynn 2/9/19 ©
Photographer… still unknown.
Snarling face
to which disgrace
I cannot decipher
life on edge
hyper
Mother’s grabbing her needle
poking
prodding
and I
the silent
voodoo doll
buries every travesty
tragedy
raggedy
Ann
tender heart
bleeding
again
~KendraLynn 2/9/19 ©
Photographer unknown.
I was sitting next to her; waiting for her to decide on her own to get up. Waiting patiently, impatiently. Listening and counting the minutes.
Her voice trailed off and I leaned in to hear her better.
A raspy voice that trailed off at the mention of her mother. A blunt voice that recalled her abusive husband. A sad voice that recalled the abuse her babies suffered.
She opened the gate wide, welcoming me down the path of weeds that she called her life. Thorn bushes, dried and cranky; rubbing together incessantly at her retelling. She just shook her head to keep focused on narrating. Like she was someone else, back then. And she was. Someone else.
One of 5 siblings. Her mother rode her like a ragged mule… “Do the dishes, Tina. Wash the clothes, Tina. Mop that floor, Tina. Cook our food, Tina. Say thank you, Tina.”
There were 2 sides to her mama. The best and the beast. And no in between. “But mostly, she was the beast. Always mean.”
I was starting to see her younger version. Tall. Pretty. Determined. Strong willed. She escaped, only to become married to a better beast. A beast that was determined to make life with her mother seem innocent, when compared to her marriage. A beast that punched and kicked and spit. A beast that kept her pregnant and trapped. A beast that snarled at her while he slapped her baby nonchalantly.
That sparked her.
Her fire was now lit and she scooped her 4 babes up and ran… back to her mother.
Nowhere else to go. Up was too far. And low? She’d all ready counted the blood spots on the dirty, wood floor.
3 jobs of nonstop work. She’d escape again. It was only a matter of time.
And she did. Into the arms of the first man willing to look at her. A new, abusive, second husband. Drinking and punching and cussing. A misery that shadowed even the brightest idea. A misery that snuffed out all hope.
But.
She wasn’t a quitter.
She looks at me, at that point in her story. Her eyes got big. Her concave cheeks puffed out proud.
“Third time’s the charm.”
Her third was her prince.
Her third adored her.
Her third gave her, her.
Until his dying day.
Her eyes clouded over again, but her smile was still there.
He taught her how to love. In her swirling world of misery, he opened up a world of glitter and love.
I don’t know why she chose me to tell her story, but she did. And I adore her for it.
~KendraLynn 1/25/19 ©
He stood behind me
a graying memory
of a memory
raspy voice
recalling only the greatest news
clipping out
the muddied shoes
handing out candy
to all of those
pig-tailed dreams
that keep us going
shaving off doubt
with the cleanest edge
wiping off dust
with a barber’s pledge
and he made me think
of you
Dad
~KendraLynn 1/5/19 ©
* Fletcher’s Barber Shop circa for as long as I can remember. Dad getting a “tight & clean” cut. The laughter. Fletcher. His raspy voice always made me think he was knocking on death’s door. But life is so odd. I was thinking of Dad. Thinking odd thoughts that made me smile. I was standing in line at Dollar General on Christmas Eve & I heard a familiar, raspy voice behind me. I smiled & turned. Fletcher’s Barber Shop flashed before my eyes. He wished me Merry Christmas & it was like Dad visiting me from Heaven – wishing me the same. My heart. Oh, my heart cradles this moment. And I don’t care if anyone else understands.*
My eyes scan the surface of this shell of a home
memorizing the fantasy
releasing the fallacy
a storm of tears threaten
a welling of excitement for the uncertain
future
with its silent wound suture
my puckered scars no longer stare
glaringly
back at me
the name on my luggage tag
is written so bold
rimmed in gold
~KendraLynn 1/5/19 ©
*photo borrowed from Pinterest – unknown photographer*
TwirlingTwirling
Madness
Swirling
I bite my tongue
you
split yours
talking in circles
the sky
so ready to cry
acid
acid
we all fall down
~KendraLynn 12/29/18 ©
Photo credit: photo borrowed from Pinterest. Photographer unknown.
~Had planned on writing a completely different poem – this one, however, demanded to be written. And so it was.
He decided
to hang his dream
on his own ghost
falling heavy
gasping for air
for that cheering care
grasping
flashes of scenes
he didn’t expect
ruthless introspect
His mother
brushing his hair
tender was her care
her stupid tears
at graduation
from kindergarten
her harsh tones
at the few
broken bones
the holding of
a cold, cold hand
at that suicidal end
*not sure why, but it bothers me. He was a stranger that only my co-worker knew. A 19 yr old that hung himself last week. He was an only child to a single mother. My heart breaks for her*
Photographer unknown, but found on Pinterest.
~KendraLynn 10/13/18
White knuckle
steering wheel hold
combine fired up
dusty
bold
gotta beat that late summer storm
burn every precious hour
and wait til later
to mourn
I feel the earth rumble as the farm machinery all begin to grumble. And behind every, little bit of it sits the farmer. Scouring the fields. Slapping a cap on a rock hard thigh. Burning a row.
Only one more hour to go
Sunset’s coming soon
Time to harvest that gold.
~KendraLynn 9/21/18 ©
Photo borrowed from Pinterest.
years ago
I let the seeds
fly from my numb, limp fingers
grasping so long
tendrils of a cardiac beat
syncytial rhythm
tachy
reedy
incomplete
ear to earth
memorizing the sound
of rebirth
seeds planted
dreaming enchanted
envisioning
letting go
deep in the heart of me
ever glow
fields once burnt
crisp with grief
now flourish in my heartland
my wildflower heart
started
with my outstretched hand
*****************
~KendraLynn 7/1/18 ©
Kendra Lynn 