Within My Illusions

Invitation Let this book of poetry present itself as an invitation. You can read the poems in any order or straight through. You may want to linger on one poem at a time or take in the book all at once. You may choose to read the poems as an observer, a witness to my heart and experience. Or, I invite you to bring your own heart to the conversation. Hold the book in your hands, close your eyes, and in your imagination feel the space of your heart. In the stillness or movement of your imagination, notice what emerges from that heart space—it could be an image, a question, or a thought. Open the book and see where your eyes land. Read that poem out loud, in your own voice to feel its resonance. How does your heart connect with that poem? You might take a few moments to pause and reflect or even write down some thoughts in a journal. I’m always in awe at the way, when we open to connect, we become mirrors, experiencing ourselves in an expanded way through one another. I offer these poems as one side of a conversation. I invite you, the reader, to join me. Discovery Let’s be as children, Eager to discover things We already knew. Miracle Her name tag said “Miracle,” which seemed something lyrical. I asked how she got her name, though I could imagine the story even before she told it. I just wanted to see the way her face lit up as she remembered who she was. Security Blanket When I was born, my grandfather gave me a blanket, soft flannel, quilted in satin, the color and feel of a pale, pink rose. Stitching in the center outlined the shape of a teddy bear. The border was edged in creamy white. When I could speak, I named the blanket Mercy. I was three. How could I know what mercy was, or the ways in which I would need it? Mercy would be my cocoon, my womb, when the world inside me felt too big and my strength to withstand it too small. I rested Mercy against my cheek, let her gentle presence sink into my heart. I rubbed her edges between my fingers, like a meditation. Her cloth graced my lips, a prayer, a relief from feelings I didn’t know how to speak. I slept with Mercy every night, and the space she held for me expanded even as she grew smaller, receding with time, like the tree in the story I often read with her, until one day she was mistakenly sent to a hotel laundry with the rest of the bed linens. I was fourteen. I sobbed as I heard the resignation in my dad’s voice as he spoke to the housekeeping department, asked them if they could Please. Look. One. More. Time for a blanket, once pink, now beige, edges frayed, torn and laced in spots where fingers had worn through, where mercy reigned. Sprouts Underneath the heavy weight of fear, The shoulds, the coulds, A path that seems unclear; Beneath the snow-white winter of my mind, Where flowers droop and Petals wilt in space confined; A steady chant has quietly begun: Feed me. Water me. Point me in the direction of the sun. Training Wheels My dad held onto the back of the seat the first time I rode my bike without training wheels. “Don’t let go,” I pleaded. I wasn’t aware of when the bike slipped out of his grip, but I can still feel the moment of bringing myself into balance, of releasing my breath, and finding the freedom to fly. Words I Love, in English (written three times and used in a sentence) frisky frisky frisky Snowball is frisky after a bath and hops around the deck like a kangaroo. tickled tickled tickled I was tickled by the boy saying, “When I have a basketball in my hand, I feel joy.” He doesn’t remember saying it, but I was paying attention. basal ganglia basal ganglia basal ganglia The basal ganglia is the part of the brain that controls routine and habitual behavior and thought processes; it’s like autopilot; in my imagination, it’s purple and has tentacles. linger linger linger I tend to linger until the last person goes, unless I leave early. boisterous boisterous boisterous I learned how to be boisterous from my sister, who is the funniest person I know; also from doing theater; it’s not encoded in my basal ganglia; it requires focused attention, which involves a different part of my brain. delightful delightful delightful Most of my best friends have told me that when they first met me, they thought I was a bitch; but once they got to know me, they realized I’m delightful. actually actually actually Actually, I’m naturally reserved in new situations. This can come across as aloofness; and sometimes I just don’t have anything to say, so I listen; and sometimes I’m overwhelmed or sad, or tired from being boisterous or just living; and sometimes I really want to go home and soak in a bath, which leaves me feeling tranquil and not frisky. tranquil tranquil tranquil The river appears tranquil on the surface, but deep down the current is raging.