poem: Mapmakers of the surface of the moon, and other things

for Em

But, you are a kind soul.

Bridge burning makes your hands

feel soiled, unclean; oily with

charred remains of unkempt

promises and books unwritten.

It was never for the likes of you

to make those decisions: who stays,

who leaves; you have to beg them all

to not desert YOU when darkness

takes its turn with you. Except: when

the siphon is taking your own blood

for a transfusion into your own heart;

and loving bipolar men

is kind of just like that.

You offer an ounce of spirit, but

the pound of soul flesh is taken.

But I tell you, yes you. You. Are.

Good Enough. Take the colors from

your sky, and spin them into something

tangible that can bear the weight

of separation and loss, weave it into

cord and embroider it into your

patchwork, let it stand. Make it stand,

never sit. Let it stand proudly  

as living, breathing, weeping testament

to the ordinary courage of the heart

immersed in the presence of ghosts.

For goodness' sake, if you need to harness

the wrath of lightning to create your

masterpiece, do so. Strike swiftly and clean,

without apology.

Your shortcomings far smaller than you think,

it was never your fault that the half-living

could not find themselves in the map

you wove. It takes a special kind of

self-preservation to read cartography, and

the job of the surveyor is to create the best

damned map that can be made with knowledge

at hand. It was never teaching

the geologically disinclined to read every

nuanced slope shore and valley

between West Tennessee and the moon's

own lonely light. Those are promises

the moon keeps between her, and those

rare hearts who understand her, best.

Author's Note

picture of the February 2014 blood moon eclipse is my own

Reviews

[Emily B]

i told you about the link to Tennessee then? it was our home when we first married, he took me from my father's farm to our own on a buckboard wagon. The house was small but he built it with his own hands. He was so proud of everything. He took me from the barn to the chicken coop. We were supposed to start a new adventure together. He went to war and me and the baby died. He came back. Alive mostly. I saw him as an old man sitting on the porch of the little house staring at my grave marker. He never let go.

He still hasn't.

Your words are beautiful. Restorative. They give me strength for new roads.I like the part about spinning. My hands remembered pretty quickly. How many hundred years have passed since I sat at a spinning wheel and turned wool into yarn?

[Marie Anzalone]

Dear sister: Beleive me when I say, no, I had no idea of the Tennessee connection. You see, some of my poetry, I do not actually write, rather it writes, through me. This was one such piece. I did the editing, but I did not "write" it. It brings me joy to do somethign restorative for you. The spinning, the moon.. all of it. Tell me, what is the significance of the moon?

[Emily B]

i thought i knew, hold that thought

[h d e rushin]

All the women poets in the world, after Sexton, will find the road of confession marred with
the jeu d'esprit of half-hearted devotion. Thats only because early women poets were dismissed
as "girly" or cosmetic (Dickinson). When I arrived here in April of 2012, Em/ took me under her
wing forever knowing that I was intensely Black. Intensely insane. Intensely individual. How hard
the true story of poetry is.

What I found was everything out of the ordinary; that poetry had been unfairly predicted
and that those noticeable differences were the stuff of plastic surgery...elected rather than blue-cross
remunerative. I owe Ms Burns, as well as the many women poets who come here to write,
a tremendous debt. If it is true that a poem is a thing you can feel/ that since feel is more motaphase
than metaphor or happening in our cell necleus more than in our ability to suggest licknesses,
then what I believed in my unconventional imagination was true; that this was a love poem

wonderful work marie...dana

[Marie Anzalone]

And last, you, my friend. You know, here in Latin America, they talk of the world-renowned novelist Isabel Allende, and say of her, "She writes almost as well as a man?" A bias against women writers, who write of, "female concerns." What of those of us who write of universal concerns? I am sure I would be better received on site if I were a man, honestly. I have thought of changing my profile gender/name and seeing if I got better reception. When men write erotica, it is thrilling; when women write it, it is "chick lit." Etc. A denouncement of female moral authority, of the right to essentially stand up and be counted. I applaud Emily in being the top-read female writer on site. That says something. She has put up with abuse and demeaning messages for years... more related simply to her gender than to her message. I have too, the difference is, i fought back, and have been blacklisted by half the site. Another writer friend changed her name in order to stay on site. A great writer is a great writer. We have much to teach and learn from each other. I will never understand this drive to somehow cheapen or lessen the contribution of some writers. Why is a man's war confessional of losing his buddies in battle, "art," but a woman's confessional of the pain of losing her man or son or daughter to war, "whining?" We can and must challenge this notion that only men's experiences matter.

[Horizon K.]

...it was never your fault that the half-living
could not find themselves in the map
you wove...

Your words of encouragement to a friend are not only uplifting and straight from the heart, but also beautiful poetry. The people who can see inside of us, who know us well enough to navigate these heart paths, follow the map, through our light and darkness -- we hope that they see us this way-- with love.
You illuminate not only the heart of your friend, but yours as well. Lovely, Marie...

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Horizon. Some are truly gifted with the ability to listen, and reflect back what they feel and hear; they create maps for others, that often others are not ready/ willing to follow. My friend is such a mapmaker. it is hard work, and often unappreciated... with a lot of anger, resentment, accusations thrown our way when we try to help these people that everyone else would rightfully shun. It takes its toll, and sometimes, we need to set real limits. That can be the hardest thing for those of us that only know how to give from the spirit. I understand her plight, because often, it is mine, as well. It is nice to see feiendship recognized for what it is. Thank yuo for that.

[Tree]

You can just feel how sincere your words are. Even to those gliding over the surface of this friendship your healing words helps us, too. There is nothing like having a person in your corner when the fight begins to get harder, starts taking its toll. Just a few true words, the Truth. Spoken. Sometimes that's all it takes to revitalize our goals. Our spirit. Our / good intent.

Well said, poetess.

[Marie Anzalone]

There are soem people who are always there for others; it takes a very careful eye and heart to see how much they also need someone in their corner form time to time, how they too face indecision and despair and all those all-too-human feelings we need to go through. the recipient of this is one such individual. That my words speak to a larger audience, means that I did my job not just as a friend, but as a poet. I thank you for pointing that out to me.

[Perdition]

Absolutely love it when poetry feels like it has been written through a distant and knowing hand that feeds what is absolutely needed . This one fills me at a time when the filling is rare and very necessary ….It just fits so well shy a couple words. Thanks Marie, I shall drink of this as if it was poured just for me (knowing that it was not of course). BUT a higher compliment or praise I could not pay respectfully to a wonderful poet. Namaste~

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank oyu, Perdition, for taking the time to stop by and read and review. I am glad that my words spoke to you when you needed them to. I try to hit universal in my works; try to tell the story at hand, but also relate it to others. So, consider that the pitcher was filled to refresh more than one glass. Saludos y bendiciones.

[SkinlessFrank]

How can it be that I never discovered your words here before? Your writing reminds me to look within myself for strength and not to apologize. Wonderful.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Frank, ofr stopping by and gracing my page with your kind words and thoughts. It makes me happy that this spoke to you.