Lorren shared these on a Note--I wanted to put it here so no one missed it. I'm still a Substack newbie and learning how it works :) When/if you'd like to share what you've written for the week, you can do it here in the comments. We'll get the Marco Polo group up and running and can share them there as well/instead.
She said: I wrote a draft and took it to a feedback group and was told they wanted more of me in it, so I have this new extended draft (that feels very unpolished).
The zen priestess says non-attachment is non-suffering
as she stands before us nurses
in a conference room in the belly
of the hospital on sunset, across from the church
of Scientology and a few blocks
down from old Hollywood. To be good
caretakers we must detach, strip
our patients off with our scrubs
in the garage, enter into a calm
free of entanglement.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t work in nursing very long.
I tie double knots in the threads binding
me earthwards, webbing me to a thousand
capricious souls with knives in their fists.
I never banish my ghosts—they play
with my hair, rest their heads on my shoulder, lips grazing my ear.
I can’t leave a place without licking dew
off the leaves to pass through the membrane
of my cells. I wear the marks blooming
over the paperthin tissue of my heart like medals.
I’m an acolyte of resurrection; I believe
every severed cord will be rewoven, braided
with golden thread.
(And here’s the original, for context. I might still like it better)
Non-attachment is the avoidance of suffering
but I crave entanglement, threads binding
me earthwards, webbing me to a thousand
capricious souls with knives in their fists.
We all have teeth and claws; we all hurt sometimes,
This was also on that note, moving it here so everything's together. --> Yessssss. I get to read more of your poems! And thank you for sharing both of these! It’s always fascinating to see multiple versions side by side. I love how well they both, in their different ways, absolutely nail the impossibility of giving healing, powerful care, and, you know, not caring. Not putting enough of yourself into it or letting enough of them in. Like that's a choice. The lines “I never banish my ghosts, they play / with my hair, rest their heads on my shoulder, lips grazing my ear”-- SO good. I am a sucker for short poems, so I kindof love the second version’s succinctness. And that line (and placement of the line) “I’ll take it.”-- delicious.
Aaah I totally missed all of this and didn’t realize it was on a note. I’m so good at technology 😂 Thank you for shepherding it over to the right place!
This is my poem, mostly written with a sleepy toddler in my lap. I hear myself hurrying my kids along every day and hate that it feels like hurrying them through childhood.
Time to Leave
Time to leave, or we will be late. Let’s go
forsake the toilsome ticking of the clock.
Unwind tangled threads of thought within
a caress of quilts, under his warm weight.
Abuzz with the willful demand of childhood delights,
one bossy, chubby finger points
insisting an announcement for each fire truck
on beat with his siren shriek. Endless feasts on
pages flavored by rainbow glimmers of possibility.
Alyssa! Loved this poem, and love any poems written with sleepy toddlers on laps :) The line break after “his spark fades” and into the gorgeous “duet of heartbeats and breath”, so good! And I got chills at “Let’s go /hand in hand through Neverland, until/ it’s time to leave.” It encapsulates so much of what is melty and achey about motherhood + childhood. I really liked too, how you took the rush of “Time to leave”, and went on to slow everything down with your words and noticings. ❤️❤️
Emily! ❤️ Wow. All the movement you pack in here is a wild ride in such a short poem, and made for a really cool experience reading this. And the way you captured the shortness of breath and the pressure, the constriction and power of narration, and how linked we all are. How hard we try. Loved getting to read this. Thank you for sharing.
The shifting perspectives in this are so interesting! The breath inside your chest, your inner child and your own children, generations before you and a storm, and then back to you inside your own body. It’s really dynamic.
❤️🎉🎉Yay Marcy!!!! 🎉🎉❤️ Proud of you! Grandma newbie poetry lovers are the best kind :) Also, I really liked how the dialogue snippets and contrasts capture the fragments and *squirviness* of life lived with small children. Cheers to beginnings! And your poetry!
Here’s my poem for this week. There are big stories and memories behind a lot of these words for me, but I wonder if it needs more substance or detail from an outside perspective?
Oooof. So good! Brilliant redirection. And your last line?!! 🤯I especially love how the tone you’ve achieved here with the pacing and the precise, plain, but surprising language underlines this kind of tragically chilly distance. The “and____” pattern is fantastic, every one. Love this one so much. 💙💙
This is really beautiful. I love using the color to show so much emotion and also the heritage and connection at the end whether it is wished for or not.
From an outside perspective i'm left curious but also the lack of background helps me see my own experience in it in a really beautiful way. thank you for sharing.
Grateful for this space and inspiration! Been wanting to share this with you, Brinn, since I only took the time to write it after devouring write.sister.write last summer. It's so long but the only way I could wrap my head around the insanity that my life had become with 5 kids born in 5 years. Penning these words was the start of allowing myself to heal and feel.
I say/ They say
They ask me why I'm holding on so hard
because, I say, she stole his green play
dough and the food coloring still stains
my fingernails and I’m a l m o s t done
cleaning out the basement and it’s
snack time
They ask me why I don’t just let go
because, I say, she’s sucking on the
headphone case and his maskez are
smooshing his ears and I j u s t found
the other shoe and — one sec — I’m
gonna start the dishwasher
But, hold up, They say, we know about that
They still ask
Why don’t you loosen your grip
because, I say, I should make another
sticker chart and she s t i l l can’t read
and I keep telling him to put his gloves
in his spidey mask before he puts them
away and I flushed the undies down the
toilet and I’m just gonna preheat the
oven real quick
We know, We know, They say
Why don’t you trust Us
because, I say, I was making the
balloon arch but they know how to pick
the lock and he pooped his pants
a g a i n and does anyone know where
Tetu is and — look at my eyes — is your
tummy full
sorry.
You’re good, They say
That's what We're saying
Why don’t you believe Us
because, I say, I still haven’t finished
the painting I’m making to cover the
hole in the wall I made the day the new
neighbors were coming over and he
said he’d do the meat but it’s still in the
freezer and the timer went off and I’ve
just got to drop this off at Nellie’s
r e a l quick
Okay, okay, They say
But why can’t you see that there’s a poem in that
because, I say
well, I do, I say
but if I can just fold this laundry real
quick I won’t have to run up and down
the stairs all weekend and we can
f i n a l l y sit in a pew and I’m not
bringing snacks because the kitchen
was open but he chose not to eat
(Hmm, should we try something else? She’s not getting it)
Hannah! I'm so happy that you're writing, and to have you here! And I'm so so glad that you made the effort to get this down in a poem. I love it. It holds and says so much. I love the format of the asking and response --of trying to explain our lives and our reasons but not ever being able to slow down or set enough down to really be able to even think. And all the words we say as parents that we never imagined we would. I loved every specific detail and interaction you included, and the word s t r e t c h i n g, and how nonstop and frantic the pacing is right up until: "I just feel like I’m breaking, I say / beyond repair / like little fissures / but I used up all the super glue / on the party favors." SO good! ❤️🩹 Thank you for sharing this here.
Lorren shared these on a Note--I wanted to put it here so no one missed it. I'm still a Substack newbie and learning how it works :) When/if you'd like to share what you've written for the week, you can do it here in the comments. We'll get the Marco Polo group up and running and can share them there as well/instead.
She said: I wrote a draft and took it to a feedback group and was told they wanted more of me in it, so I have this new extended draft (that feels very unpolished).
The zen priestess says non-attachment is non-suffering
as she stands before us nurses
in a conference room in the belly
of the hospital on sunset, across from the church
of Scientology and a few blocks
down from old Hollywood. To be good
caretakers we must detach, strip
our patients off with our scrubs
in the garage, enter into a calm
free of entanglement.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t work in nursing very long.
I tie double knots in the threads binding
me earthwards, webbing me to a thousand
capricious souls with knives in their fists.
I never banish my ghosts—they play
with my hair, rest their heads on my shoulder, lips grazing my ear.
I can’t leave a place without licking dew
off the leaves to pass through the membrane
of my cells. I wear the marks blooming
over the paperthin tissue of my heart like medals.
I’m an acolyte of resurrection; I believe
every severed cord will be rewoven, braided
with golden thread.
(And here’s the original, for context. I might still like it better)
Non-attachment is the avoidance of suffering
but I crave entanglement, threads binding
me earthwards, webbing me to a thousand
capricious souls with knives in their fists.
We all have teeth and claws; we all hurt sometimes,
in our sleep or clear-eyed. I’ll take it.
Wound me. Dislocate my joints. Leave your marks
blooming over the paperthin tissue of my heart.
I’m an acolyte of resurrection; I believe
every severed cord will be rewoven, braided
with golden thread.
This was also on that note, moving it here so everything's together. --> Yessssss. I get to read more of your poems! And thank you for sharing both of these! It’s always fascinating to see multiple versions side by side. I love how well they both, in their different ways, absolutely nail the impossibility of giving healing, powerful care, and, you know, not caring. Not putting enough of yourself into it or letting enough of them in. Like that's a choice. The lines “I never banish my ghosts, they play / with my hair, rest their heads on my shoulder, lips grazing my ear”-- SO good. I am a sucker for short poems, so I kindof love the second version’s succinctness. And that line (and placement of the line) “I’ll take it.”-- delicious.
Aaah I totally missed all of this and didn’t realize it was on a note. I’m so good at technology 😂 Thank you for shepherding it over to the right place!
Hahaah, no worries! I’m still just wandering around like a disoriented tourist on this app.
Wow--I love this! An acolyte of resurrection. I like the revised version so much!
Hi Lorren, what a raw piece of yourself you’ve shared! Thank you.
This is my poem, mostly written with a sleepy toddler in my lap. I hear myself hurrying my kids along every day and hate that it feels like hurrying them through childhood.
Time to Leave
Time to leave, or we will be late. Let’s go
forsake the toilsome ticking of the clock.
Unwind tangled threads of thought within
a caress of quilts, under his warm weight.
Abuzz with the willful demand of childhood delights,
one bossy, chubby finger points
insisting an announcement for each fire truck
on beat with his siren shriek. Endless feasts on
pages flavored by rainbow glimmers of possibility.
Wisps of flaxen curls tickle my chin-
inhale the coconut-coated innocence of
bubble baths soaked in a sea of lost boys
and pirate ships. His spark fades
into the hushed duet of
heartbeats and breath.
Tiny toes still against my press.
Surrender to his claim
as a pair of dimpled hands
clasp my cheeks
and lips slick with
the heavy
release of sleep
moisten mine.
Golden crown melts
into the pillow of my chest. Let’s go
hand in hand through neverland until
it is time to leave.
Alyssa! Loved this poem, and love any poems written with sleepy toddlers on laps :) The line break after “his spark fades” and into the gorgeous “duet of heartbeats and breath”, so good! And I got chills at “Let’s go /hand in hand through Neverland, until/ it’s time to leave.” It encapsulates so much of what is melty and achey about motherhood + childhood. I really liked too, how you took the rush of “Time to leave”, and went on to slow everything down with your words and noticings. ❤️❤️
This feels like finding a way to bring the magic of childhood with you into motherhood, it’s so sweet!
Here is my attempt. This exercise was so interesting. I was surprised what came up
.
.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this, pushes on
my chest as I take a prescribed
breath that sounds like a
small hissing warning. My inner
child, and the two at my feet dive
for cover. From up here, my vision
spans generations and I become the
storm that shadows even headstones.
I’d like to say there is no resemblance,
that I’m not still fighting demons. Still
I am here, gasping
in effort and recognition,
so I can’t do this.
Emily! ❤️ Wow. All the movement you pack in here is a wild ride in such a short poem, and made for a really cool experience reading this. And the way you captured the shortness of breath and the pressure, the constriction and power of narration, and how linked we all are. How hard we try. Loved getting to read this. Thank you for sharing.
The shifting perspectives in this are so interesting! The breath inside your chest, your inner child and your own children, generations before you and a storm, and then back to you inside your own body. It’s really dynamic.
This is amazingly vulnerable for this grandma newbie poetry lover. So excited, and a little nervous to enter this new experiment.
Sure Can
Cozy spots, train tracks leading nowhere.
Drones become submarines become spears that kill
“say blah”.
A miracle swipe revives.
“Put your feet on my nipples and I can fly!”
Lift, float, fall. Trust.
Breeze brushing your skinny naked
body’s
squirvy lines.
My lines are straight, precise, measured
minute movements, calculated for
greatest gain.
So grown up.
“I love you.”
“No, I love you.”
“We love each other!”
Let me squirve in your joyful messiness~
melt in your tight embrace
my childish teacher.
“Sure can.”
❤️🎉🎉Yay Marcy!!!! 🎉🎉❤️ Proud of you! Grandma newbie poetry lovers are the best kind :) Also, I really liked how the dialogue snippets and contrasts capture the fragments and *squirviness* of life lived with small children. Cheers to beginnings! And your poetry!
Here’s my poem for this week. There are big stories and memories behind a lot of these words for me, but I wonder if it needs more substance or detail from an outside perspective?
My Mother’s Eyes
My mother’s eyes were blue
Like a dangerous current
And cold
My father’s eyes were blue
Like mountain peaks
And distant
So is it any wonder
That I feel drowned and lost
And blue
Oooof. So good! Brilliant redirection. And your last line?!! 🤯I especially love how the tone you’ve achieved here with the pacing and the precise, plain, but surprising language underlines this kind of tragically chilly distance. The “and____” pattern is fantastic, every one. Love this one so much. 💙💙
This is really beautiful. I love using the color to show so much emotion and also the heritage and connection at the end whether it is wished for or not.
From an outside perspective i'm left curious but also the lack of background helps me see my own experience in it in a really beautiful way. thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much 🥹 This was a heavy one to share so your encouragement means a lot!!
Wow-you tell so much with so few words. Brilliant. I can really feel it.
Ooh this gives me feelings of being pulled in and pushed away, chilling.
Grateful for this space and inspiration! Been wanting to share this with you, Brinn, since I only took the time to write it after devouring write.sister.write last summer. It's so long but the only way I could wrap my head around the insanity that my life had become with 5 kids born in 5 years. Penning these words was the start of allowing myself to heal and feel.
I say/ They say
They ask me why I'm holding on so hard
because, I say, she stole his green play
dough and the food coloring still stains
my fingernails and I’m a l m o s t done
cleaning out the basement and it’s
snack time
They ask me why I don’t just let go
because, I say, she’s sucking on the
headphone case and his maskez are
smooshing his ears and I j u s t found
the other shoe and — one sec — I’m
gonna start the dishwasher
But, hold up, They say, we know about that
They still ask
Why don’t you loosen your grip
because, I say, I should make another
sticker chart and she s t i l l can’t read
and I keep telling him to put his gloves
in his spidey mask before he puts them
away and I flushed the undies down the
toilet and I’m just gonna preheat the
oven real quick
We know, We know, They say
Why don’t you trust Us
because, I say, I was making the
balloon arch but they know how to pick
the lock and he pooped his pants
a g a i n and does anyone know where
Tetu is and — look at my eyes — is your
tummy full
sorry.
You’re good, They say
That's what We're saying
Why don’t you believe Us
because, I say, I still haven’t finished
the painting I’m making to cover the
hole in the wall I made the day the new
neighbors were coming over and he
said he’d do the meat but it’s still in the
freezer and the timer went off and I’ve
just got to drop this off at Nellie’s
r e a l quick
Okay, okay, They say
But why can’t you see that there’s a poem in that
because, I say
well, I do, I say
but if I can just fold this laundry real
quick I won’t have to run up and down
the stairs all weekend and we can
f i n a l l y sit in a pew and I’m not
bringing snacks because the kitchen
was open but he chose not to eat
(Hmm, should we try something else? She’s not getting it)
Why don’t you just let Us take over for a moment
— just a small one
because, I say
I tried, I say
but she just brought diet coke and TJ’s
chocolate (I don’t get it) and I told
them to keep the water in the bathtub
and where was the last place you had
tiger and scratchy and —good job —
your backpack and shoes a l m o s t
made it to your bedroom
Silence, They say
Be still
I just feel like I’m breaking, I say
beyond repair
like little fissures
but I used up all the super glue
on the party favors
That’s the point, They say
Well not really, but yes
They say
We’ve got You
So, I say
I just let go?
Yes Yes Yes
Just offer it up, They say
We'll take it, They say
Hannah! I'm so happy that you're writing, and to have you here! And I'm so so glad that you made the effort to get this down in a poem. I love it. It holds and says so much. I love the format of the asking and response --of trying to explain our lives and our reasons but not ever being able to slow down or set enough down to really be able to even think. And all the words we say as parents that we never imagined we would. I loved every specific detail and interaction you included, and the word s t r e t c h i n g, and how nonstop and frantic the pacing is right up until: "I just feel like I’m breaking, I say / beyond repair / like little fissures / but I used up all the super glue / on the party favors." SO good! ❤️🩹 Thank you for sharing this here.
I love how you've structured this, Brinn! And love reading everyone's work so far :) I'm going to give this a try as well and come back...
Thank you Candace! ❤️ Me too! Can’t wait to see & read where it takes you.
I’m feeling really excited about adding this new ritual into my Sundays, thank you for creating this space for all of us ☀️
Me too! Small and doable. So grateful to have you here, and to be able to learn together. 💕
Insightful poem. Some lovely language use. I like both versions. Thank you.