4/30/2015 The Light of Day

Aleathia says:

Life is such an interesting journey.  It is just as hard to navigate if you have a good head on your shoulders than if you don't.  One can never foresee all the possible permutations of each decision of each moment.  If you break it down, if you really were cognizant of each decision you might go insane.  This is awareness.  This type of awareness of every thing in this moment, every choice, every breath is what is supposed to move you forward to enlightenment.

I have been sick since Saturday and I am the first to admit that I am a miserable cuss when I am ill.  My poor family has had to suffer my own personal suffering this week.  In hindsight I feel bad about it.  I could have been more aware of my verbal actions and a little less "misery loves company".  But an interesting thing happened.  I walked the dog and came back miserable and short of breath and feeling a little angry that Michael didn't walk the dog for me because I was ill.  Yes, it was my turn, but I was looking for sympathy.  I came back to him watching a documentary on The Buddha.  It was the story of Siddhartha's journey to enlightenment.

I remember learning this story when I first started studying Buddhism in 1997.  It is a great story of struggle and understanding and of finding balance.  Michael is our resident theologian.  He is a man of deep thought and over his lifetime has explored more religions than I knew existed.  He has practiced some of them as well.  He is a fountain of wonder and knowledge to me.  After the documentary was over we started talking about the Dalai Lama and how he has people in the world who hate him.  We both could not understand the reasoning for it.  Maybe those people have their own struggles which bring these types of feelings up.  Michael was interested in the Dalai Lama's journey from Tibet though he wanted a perspective other than what I had to offer, but he gladly started reading the Dalai Lama's autobiography about his exile and his life.

I woke up today in severe pain after only sleeping 4 hours.  My chest didn't hurt as bad but my hip was so painful I could barely move.  I started thinking about how insignificant that pain is compared to what is happening in Nepal and Baltimore or any other place engulfed in suffering in the world.  I cried in the shower, not from pain, but from the fact that I have let myself ride on the wheel of suffering so easily.  The last year and a half has not been easy.  So much was left without closure with my mother's sudden death.  I have been fighting this battle by myself because I won't let anyone else stand by me.  I have gotten so out of balance.  I get angry easy, frustrated, and fly off the handle.  I cry without warning.  I have let myself go physically which causes two kinds of suffering.

This morning I said the refuge prayer and did prostrations and a mala of compassion prayers.  I feel like I found an old friend.  I feel like my best friend gave me back something wonderful when I needed it most.  Maybe I was just ready to hear it again.  Maybe I was tired of spinning uncontrollably.  Whatever it may be, it is a start.

"When we are training in the art of peace, we are not given any promises that because of our noble intentions everything will be okay.  In fact, there are no promises of fruition at all.  Instead, we are encouraged to simply look deeply at joy and sorrow, at laughing and crying, at hoping and fearing, all all that lives and dies.  We learn that what truly heals is gratitude and tenderness."--Pema Chodron

4/26/2015 Friends of the Library Book Sale and discovering I'm an Empath

Aleathia says:

Yesterday I took my daughter to the pre-sale for the local library book sale.  We pay an extra $10 to get to go on this day for both sales.  In the last few years it has been plagued with internet sellers who come and take over the whole area.  They block off sections and have out their phone scanners and hoard the books.  I overhear them saying "oh we can get $15 for this book" and it really nauseates me.

I love these small town book sales....the smell of old library and old ladies, the musty volunteer fire department hall, the dust of ancient books, strangers having conversations over the stacks, and the long lost art of treasure hunting.  The atmosphere has been ruined by these people that flood in and take the books that I WANT TO READ, not resell for a profit.

I understand to a degree that this is how it goes.  I have heard people complain about this in reference to other book sales as well, but I can't help but get upset over it.  I love books.  They comfort me, they teach me, they give me a perpetual sense of wonder.

This morning while I was trying to wake up (I slept an ungodly 9 hours) I was reading an article on empaths.  Something clicked in me and I am not sure why I had not thought of this before.  I identify with all the qualities an empath possesses.  I have had these feelings for all of my life.  I have been called "too sensitive" and a "cry baby".  I cannot stand large crowds unless I am drugged or drinking which explains how I made it through all those Grateful Dead concerts.  I thought I was agoraphobic for a long time except for the fact that I find people fascinating.  I don't think you can admire the human condition while being an agoraphobe.  I just don't think it is possible.

What does this have to do with the library sale?  I think it has a lot to do with it.  I could feel the distress in that room, not just my own, but for all the local people who love to linger and ponder over books.  Now there is a feeling of panic and frantic looking.  We have to try and get the books we want before those scanner fools get to our section and buy up all the books.  I couldn't stay there very long because the sad feeling was overwhelming.    Michael went to the sale today by himself.  I just couldn't really build myself up to do it.

I did find something nice for Michael there yesterday....a collection of trade paperback "Bone" series which he loves.  I found some collected stories from Carol Shields and a Murakami book.  Chloe found a few fantasy books and dragon books so it wasn't a bust, but my heart felt a little broken at the feeding frenzy it has become.  So today I am going to relax, read so more biography on Van Gogh, and sew.  This is going to be a "few people as possible day"

4/22/2015 When is Your House a Home? and more poems.

Aleathia says:

We have lived in this house for over a year.  I loved it the moment I stepped inside with all it's early 20th century charm, dark wood detail, French doors, and gorgeous view.  It screamed home and possibility to me.  I liked that it was lived in by generations of one family.

Since we have lived here we have made friends with the neighbors and gotten to know the good and bad parts of the neighborhood.  We have fallen in love with the river again as we see it everyday burgeoning with the hills behind.  At night we can see stars and the tracts of lights in the city.  We have enjoyed the 5 minute walk downtown to any event we choose or to just window shop.  We get more date nights being able to leave the car in the driveway.

The other day Michael brought up something very interesting that I had not really thought of.  He mentioned that both of us have spent our lives living in apartments since we went out on our own. This consists of white walls and fixtures and amenities beyond your control.  There is no landscaping or upkeep.  You pay your money and leave the space the way the owner wants it until you move on to the next place.

Both of us have done very little to this house.  We have not painted yet or fixed the plaster.  We haven't started upgrading any of the rooms.  The upstairs needs a lot of overhaul as it is the oldest part of the house.   The carpets look like they are from 1970 and the wall colors too:  baby blue, mint green, and oh dear sweet Jesus peach.  The kitchen still has 80's wallpaper and the master bathroom is grandma pink.  None of these things speak to our personalities.  Why haven't we changed anything?

I have had some time to think about this since it was presented to me and I think I know why.  First of all, we aren't used to the freedom of being able to change the environment in a drastic way.  Then there is the sheer enormity of things that need to be done versus the things that we would like to get done.  They cost money, but mostly they cost time.  Our schedules do more conflicting than anything these days which makes it hard to think about starting a big project.

Having a home also requires understanding who you are as an individual and who you are as a partner.  Having a home is much like starting a new relationship.  There is the honeymoon period where everything is awesome and you feel invincible which slowly gives way to something more livable and comfortable....something that needs re-inventing every so often.  Michael and I have lived together for nearly 4 years, but the bulk of that was in the apartment.  It is hard to understand a person's aesthetic in a place that is sterile and unchangeable.

Now we have lived in the house for almost a year and a half and the patterns of who we are are starting to emerge better.  This is our place, not my place where he moved in to.  We each have our OCD problems and sometimes they overlap.  Most of the time we have to laugh about them and find creative solutions on where to put things.

Last week we started making changes.  We had all the existing items left over from the previous owners hauled away in addition to garbage that we created over the winter.  Michael ripped out a 20 foot section of wood and saw horses to reveal a dirt floor that needed filling and most likely the source of the musty/moldy smell in the basement.  He started fixing up his workshop.  I am letting go of old items and slowly changing them out for upgrades in the style of my choosing.  We have made plans to landscape the yard and he is going to build me a garden box for the spring.  It feels good to be finding our way, to be growing together.  This grace period where we did nothing has helped to let ideas set in and take root.  I look forward to a productive summer.


Here are some more poems from the month.  I have fallen gravely behind:

Honest Abe

for Cat

We have never met
or even talked on the phone
but somehow we can see ourselves
as neighbors; the kind of neighbor
that shares sugar and kids stories
and heartache over a sewing machine.

The other day she told me
she wished I lived closer
so we could make every dish
that President Lincoln ever cooked.

Inside I smiled like a schoolgirl
making a new friend, smiled
for being accepted into a secret,
as I have admired her style
and conviction and her lack of compromise
concerning ideals in the face of society.

I can see us in the kitchen
with our handmade aprons
and complicated recipes
discussing the merits
of Honest Abe over
great coffee and the sound
of heart felt laughter.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 14, 2015

Straightening

In the still parts
of the night
the smell of the hot
iron comforts the anxiety
flashing through neurons.

The steam lifts up
as the heat makes
geometrics and flowers
smooth like magic.

It is perfection
                         back and forth
steam and heat
                         back and forth
steam and heat
straightening
   my soul
for sleeping.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 15, 2015

Swing Spider, Swing

When she died
I went back
to the park
where my laughter
still lived in the trees.

I used to climb
the giant dome
and she never
seemed afraid
for me, though
I trembled inside
scared of being
a disappointment.

Sometimes she would
let me sit on her lap
our legs in opposite directions
like a spider, she would say,
and we would fly so high
and the world would fade
into sky and birds and trees
and invincible laughter.

When she died
I went back
to the park
where my laughter
still lived in the trees.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 17, 2015

4/17/2015 Relay for Life Corning, NY 2015

Aleathia says:

Recently my daughter brought home her nomination packet for the National Junior Honor Society.  It is the first time that her school is participating in this type of society and as her mother I am so very proud of her.  In reading over the material she was a little nervous about the qualities she didn't have and was starting to get down on herself.  She is kind of shy and therefore doesn't have a lot of experience in the leadership department or the service department.

I found out that she and her father participated in Relay for Life last year....how did I not know about this?  It seems like my child has two different lives sometimes.  I feel a bit lost when I don't know about the girl that lives at her dad's three days a week.

Yesterday I had decided that I wanted to put together a team for Relay for Life.  In the last few years I have lost my grandmother, my aunt, and my cousin to cancer.  My boyfriend lost his grandmother to cancer.  My daughter lost her great aunt to cancer.  I have several friends who have battled cancer and won.  This is such a couragous thing.  In 2000, I had pre-cancer of the cervix.  I never considered it having cancer because I didn't have chemo or radiation.  I had a surgery and some follow up and did not have to do much more than that.  I don't feel like I battled anything other than that month before I had the surgery where I felt like my life was altered forever.

I work in the Emergency Room and I see my community battle cancer all the time.  Some are young, some are children, some are my co-workers, some are old.  With their battle comes the battle the family must go through as well.  Being in the healthcare field lends me to have that hope that someday, despite Big Pharma, we will find a cure for cancer....someway, somehow.

Last night there was a meeting for the volunteers (Chloe is helping with the Luminaries) and I attended because Chloe was there.  This group of people is so excited about this project.  They want to spread the word and have as much of the community attend as possible.  Cancer touches all corners of the city you live in whether you are rich or poor.  It's devastation feels the same across the line.  It was inspiring to hear all the great fund raising ideas and community outreach projects that people are thinking up.

After we left the meeting, Chloe and I were brainstorming the different things we could do.  She is going to set up a donation area for gently used clothing for abuse victims that will go to help patient't at the Corning Hospital ER.  Half of the monetary donations collected will go to Relay for Life.  I thought that I could put my fabric scraps to use by making Lavender and Rice Eye Sachets to help soothe tired eyes and tension headaches.  She was very excited and told me that she loves volunteering and that it makes her feel so much better about herself.  I never knew this about her because she keeps a lot to herself and isn't always expressive about what she loves and doesn't love.  It really made my heart happy.  She inspires me to be a better person.

So last night I made a post to my Facebook page to see if a few of my local nurses and friends would like to join the Corning ER and Friends Team.  I was shocked to find that within an hour I had 17 people on my team.  It really made my heart get all warm and fuzzy.  I live in a great community and work with fantastic people.

If you would like to visit my fundraising page and donate you can find it here:  Corning ER and Friends Team.

Thank you for your support.

4/13/2015 Confucius, Urban Corning, and a mildly depressing poem

Aleathia says:

Tonight was pretty interesting in my personal universe.  I woke up from my afternoon nap to find that Michael had finally moved all the items to the curb that we needed to get rid of.  I had wanted this done for awhile, but hadn't pushed the issue because he works a lot and who am I to ask of him all this extra?

We spent the evening puttering around in the yard and the basement and getting some spring cleaning done.  It felt like we were a team again and I had really missed this.  I suppose all those months ago when he got his job I had feared that we would lose something.  I feel like we have at times, but today felt like we were rounding the corner to get it back.

I'm not sure what sparked a conversation on getting back to what matters, but I am thankful for it.  I know he has been watching a lot of foreign films, especially films from Hong Kong, and in the last few days talking about the values and wisdom of Confucius.  I had explored his virtues briefly in my 20's right before discovering Buddhism and never really went back to it.  The point of the matter is that it has opened Michael up to see the world in a little different way.  He is in a process of reassessment and I find this to be really important to do every so often.  The world we live in is ever changing and to think that you can live by the same set of rules throughout your time on the Earth is pretty narrow and confining.

After he went to bed I decided to head down to my favorite bar and try a new beer that I had not had the opportunity to experience.  It is normally pretty empty when I go on Sunday late and it suits me just fine.  I can enjoy my beverage and listen to music and enjoy a quip or two with the bartender.

As you may know, I have sort of an obsession with H + F and I have written many a blog about the place which I understand probably makes me look like an alcoholic, but trust me, I am far from it.  Tonight the owners were there and personally thanked me for what I had written.  There was another regular there who also blogs about this lovely town of Corning and he expressed that he had not only read that particular blog, but many others and liked my writing.  If you know me, you understand how frigging difficult it is for me to take compliments.  I have learned over the years that the most humble thing you can do is say "thank you" whether you feel you deserve the praise or not.  It was very gratifying to know that people read this blog sometimes.  I always hope that I am not just writing a damn "dear diary" post every few days.  You should check out Sean Lukasik's articles at Urban Corning.

During this nice night out an acquaintance (whom I have never physically met) told me she wished I lived closer so we could cook presidential meals together.  I can't tell you how fantastic this makes me feel.  I have spent a life of being fairly invisible.  I have grown accustomed to it, but as I get older it feels nice to be seen, to be thought of, to know that my company is enjoyed.

I walked home listening to Fiona Apple (Thanks Charlie and Sean) and enjoyed the night air and the burn in the muscles as I ascended the hill home.  My life is pretty fantastic.  I am thankful for every moment of it.

Sunday's poem prompt was "damage".....yeah...nothing positive is coming from that:

My Black Shroud

I remember nearly dying in your arms
and back woods trailers with my father,
you on the coast fighting for your life,
burning toads in barrels
and running from a black girl that hated me.

I remember you always smelled
of beer and cigarettes and roses.
I was your sweet pea
when you were sober
and the Queen of fucking Sheba
when you were drunk.

I remember your second husband
torturing my cat and killing my dog in the desert.
I remember how he looked at me
like I was something he wanted to wear
and how I feared your disapproval more
than I feared his hands on me;
all those nights listening to him
beat you in a manic rage
and you pretending it never happened.

I remember not going to college
because he threatened your life if I left,
my dreams and freedom traded
for the air you breathed.

I remember when he ran you over
and when you found the next one
that broke your arm
and got you addicted to meth,
and that time the ER doctor called me
from Arizona to tell me you overdosed
or that time you told me you had brain cancer
to cover up your addiction.

I remember all those times you made me feel
like a bad mother, made me feel soft for loving my kid
with everything I had, for not wanting to hear her cry
or think that my actions made her suffer.

And now you are gone.

I feel more damaged after that night
you died in your chair on brandy and Xanax
than I did from 40 years of suffering.
I had hoped there would be time
for you to make it up to me,
time to reclaim the love I never got
but reality is harsher than I ever imagined.
I wish I couldn't remember anything
about you in the small hours
of the night where you haunt me most.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 12, 2015

4/7/2015 Poem of the Day....something experimental

Aleathia says:

Tuesday's in the poem a day world means two poems.  Sometimes it is hard enough to write one.  So while delirious and standing in the shower after being up for 24 hours I thought I had a clever idea to get them done together while still being separate. The theme is a love poem and an anti love poem.  Here goes:

LOVE                                         IS NOT

Love is not just                        gimmegimmegimmegimmegimme                                                                                                         gimmegimmegimmegimmegimme

                                                                 
                        sex

Any man can stick it in a               I can fill that….
                                             hole……

It’s more about the deep    relationship<<<and give you the best >
 
                                        Let’s do it a few more_

you build in the calm, quiet         times,                                                             
                                                                                                       
                                                               baby.    



Aleathia Drehmer 2015
April 7, 2015         

4/6/2015 Living Without an Agenda, poems of the day

Aleathia says:

Ok.  I spent the last two days sweating out fevers, body aches, headache, and abdominal pain on the couch.  I had to miss work which I hate to do, but every time I was up for more than 5 minutes I felt like I was going to pass out.  I slept over 14 hours yesterday and today I wake up feeling a bit washed out, but better than the last few days.  Back to the grind I go.

Today I would like to share an affirmation from Pema Chodron.  Her words often help me get through any of life's problems.  In the work that I do, Emergency Nursing, there is a high probability to get burnt out especially when I work nights.  It is easy to get jaded about the patient's that come in, because often we are treated like waitresses who bust their asses and never get a tip.  We often don't get thanked for waiting on people hand and foot, for wiping their asses, cleaning up their vomit, and making sure we send them out in one piece.  It wears on a soul and yes we get edgy and judgmental at times.  There was a case recently where I wasn't as compassionate as I could have been.  I wasn't mean, but I didn't believe the patient's opinion of the situation and that person ended up having something wrong with them.  I am the first to stand up when I make a mistake at work.  I feel bad that I acted that way, because I am usually very intuitive and understanding.

As I have been sick, I was thinking about this person that I wronged and today I read this passage from Pema Chodron:

"Could our minds and our hearts be big enough just to hang out in that space where we're not entirely certain about who's right and who's wrong?  Could we have no agenda when we walk into a room with another person, not make the person wrong or right?  Could we see, hear, feel other people as they really are?  It is powerful to practice this way,  because we'll find ourselves continually rushing around to try to feel secure again--to make ourselves or them either right or wrong.  But true communication can happen only in that open space."--Pema Chodron



The poem for 4/5/2015 had a prompt of "vegetable":

Warm Tomatoes on the Vine

My child's mind
is tenacious
unforgiving,
her world concrete
and literal
once the daily
imagination faded.

She speaks of her Nana rarely
though she knew her well enough
before she passed.

When my mother died
she didn't cry
and it crushed me.

Where had I gone wrong
that she didn't understand
the magnitude of what had happened?

Last summer, out of nowhere,
she began to sob about how
she would never get to garden
with her Nana again
or eat warm cherry tomatoes
from the vine while she smoked
cigarettes and drank beer.

She wouldn't get to learn how
to keep slugs away or when to plant beans.

I couldn't say a word
but hugged her tight,
let her have that moment
to feel her grief
I was sure hadn't existed.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 5, 2015

and the prompt for today is "something not as it seems":

Secret Society

On the outside
he’s blunt,
often grouchy.

My daughter tip-toes
around him in these moods,
has learned silence a virtue.

She never mentions it,
she knows this is who he is...
intelligent,
impatient,
and analytical
knowing he is always there
to educate and keep safe
secrets she cannot tell me.

They don't hug.
Instead fist bump
and say niceties
to each other.

I can't ask for more
between my child
and a step dad.
I remember
so much worse
from my own
experience.

On Easter he brought her home a basket.
She was stunned and inside there was a card
that made her cheeks cherry and give him a hug.

Later I asked what was in the card
and he told me to never mind that.
“If she wanted you to know,
 she'd have shared. “

He smiled to himself.
He likes to be what people
           think he isn't.
It keeps us guessing
and always wanting
him even more.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 6, 2015

4/4/2015 Katherine Bowling and poem of the day

Aleathia says:

Believe it or not I get my education on contemporary artists from Pintrest.  There are always fantastic artists being posted there that really catch my eye.  I'm terrible about remembering where or when I see new art so it is convenient that I can save (or Pin) artists in a folder and revisit them.

The artist I would like to feature today is a woman named Katherine Bowling.  She was born in 1955 in Washington D.C. but gets her inspiration in my NY backyard of the Hudson Valley.  She has a rented home there where she spends time taking pictures which she then uses to transform into great pieces of art.  Her work is primarily landscapes, but the effect is very ethereal and dreamy.  It translates those moments when you have a seeming out of body experience in nature.  I know I have had these when I am overtaken by the beauty of nature so much that I do not feel as if I have a separate existence.  Our atoms mix.  Nature and body are but the same thing.  When I saw Katherine's work it reminded me of those feelings.

Bowling works in oils but has a process that uses spackle and sanding to create the texture that catches my eye.  Her work is also primarily on wood panels.  You can read through Katherine Bowling's career achievements at her website.

She has two primary collections called Ether and Divide.  Here are some selections from both of those collections:

"Curve"

"Moon"

"Petal"

"Pond"

"Shine"

"Storm"

"Vacation"

and the prompt today is "departure" which can be interpreted in any way you choose.  Leaving is leaving, right?  I happened to find this poem today and the original notes were from 3 years ago, but I reworked it today in my present state of being.

Smooth Scars

Sometimes the poem is dead inside.
It’s lifeless carcass staring at me
with great longing.

I circumnavigate its bulk
not willing to captain
the ship of words
needed to resume it.

Part of me feels like weeping
over its smooth black tombstone,
the other half smiles in the satisfaction
of being all consuming in living.

The poem flourished when I rotted
from the inside, living off the purification
of dreams.

This has healed
clean and pink and filled
with smooth scars
that don’t need
another stack of words
to validate my existence.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 4, 2015

4/3/2015 Coursera and the poem of the day

Aleathia says:

I was looking through apps the other day to see if there were something other than games to download.  I spend a fair amount of mindless time playing games when I could be filling my brain with something more enriching.  Hell, I could be reading a book or sewing or making art.  It is all about choices and I have been going with the flow all winter.  I need to break out.

I found an app called Coursera.  It is also available online and it is a place to take online courses for FREE from top notch collages like Johns Hopkins, Columbia, Duke, The University of Edinburgh etc.  It goes on and on.  If you want to learn for learning sake it is a wonderful opportunity.  For a small fee you can also purchase a verified certification of completion of the course from that particular college or institution.  At this point in my life I don't feel like I need the slip of paper, but I do need a place to feed my curiosity.

I can't wait to dig into a class!


and a poem with the prompt "machine":

Magnitude of Force

Somewhere in the dream
I drove half a car, the seat
pure Samsonite with tiny wheels
carrying the weight, rotating
like demons after souls
as I look out the window
of a deconstructed door.

I escaped work
in the middle
of my shift
     to get a drink,
     to free my mind,
     to stop myself
from burning
the eyes out
of my patients,
though secretly
I wanted to smoke
one blazing death stick
after another.

I park my machine
in the lot, dismount
the bionic suitcase
and lock the door
which feels pointless
and rote—something of times
passed as it is exposed
to the air like the rest of us,
and walk to the Chinese
grocery dreaming of menthols
and sesame candy.

The lights flicker out
as I touch the handle,
my heart sinking into
the deserted parking lot
with the last buzz of neon
extinguishing the night.
In the new silence, I hear
breathing not my own,
and turn to see him
standing beside me.

He lets out a sigh,
but does not say
a word as the empty,
crumpled cigarette pack
falls to the wet pavement
making our desires both
friend and enemy.

He leaves me there alone
fighting with reason
and responsibility,
neither of which are winning
as they have always done in the past,
making them whimper as I drive
until gravity won’t
         have
         me
         any
         longer.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 3, 2015

4/2/2015 Sufjan Stevens "Carrie & Lowell" and poem of the day

Aleathia says:

I am pretty lost and drowning in the new Sufjan Stevens album "Carrie & Lowell".  It is a heavenly mixture of the best parts of Bon Iver/Bowerbirds/Sufjan/The Shins/Andrew Bird.  Put them all in a blender, strain, and sip in a dark, musty room of an empty house.  It is hard to explain exactly how it makes me feel other than transported and haunted.

Sufjan's music is definitely an acquired taste and I have loved it the moment I heard it.  Even if you don't really enjoy what he has to offer you have to appreciate that the guy can play so many instruments including: guitar, bass, banjo, piano, xylophone, vibraphone, English horn, oboe, drums and the theremin.  I can barely sing let alone sing and play one of these instruments.

The sentiments of this record have to deal with his mother's mental illness and addictions.  It is personal and terrifically haunting.


And for today's poem the prompt is "secret":

You’ll Never See Us Again

At sunrise,
the birds
              blather
the nights
darkest secrets
across tree tops.

The Vernal Equinox
recently passed
yet our dawn
is still ravaged
by the gray teeth
                             of winter
ice shards
creep the edges
of our windshields.

I stop to listen
for glimpses
of my own
deep and hidden
mysteries, scared
they were plundered
in the night
like fat crawlers
from a rain soaked
                                field.

There is nothing
left I recognize
but the meticulous
timing of fleshy
valves and blood
in stipulated
hesitation.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 2, 2015

4/1/2015 April Poem A Day Challenge

Aleathia says:

Today starts off the April Poem A Day Challenge at Writer's Digest!  I love this time of year because it gets me to write almost every day and push myself to be moving my pen.  Last year at this time I used this platform to help me get over my mother's death.  She would have been 58 this year.  Happy Birthday Mom.

Today's poem prompt is resistance.  Here is my stab at it:

Guerrilla

I didn’t notice
the gray hairs
staging a resistance
on my scalp
until after
you died.

There they are—
white lightening
amongst the dirty
blonde strands
of my youth.

Somehow
I got older
without realizing it
my life spent
being a little girl
grappling at your skirts
for a word
of encouragement;

for a sign
that I amounted
to more than
a collection
of cells fighting
an endless war.

I was never much
of a rebel, my guns
filled with truth
cold and quiet;
your hand a dictator
over my heart.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015