I used to be afraid of the dark

Poem and prompt

I used to be afraid of the dark

Anytime it pooled black around me,
I’d pull with my arms,
kick with my feet,
swim for a switch, anything
to bring the light back,

but sometimes,
there’s no button to press,
no Edison bulb, 
no overhead messiah,

so I learned early
to swallow the dark,
slurp up its pressing void,
store it in my gut,
receptacle of things
that no one needs—

gallbladder
appendix,
existential dread,
steady pulse of not enough,
recurrent whoosh of what if,
the gray matter of why.

But anything will perforate
under constant pressure of light.
Stars are felled
by their own gravity. We cannot take
all our swallowed darkness
with us to the grave.
Mine is finding
its way out.
It wraps thick around me,
an inky blanket

that softens when I soften,
stills when I still,
teaches
when I am willing to learn,

which sometimes,
sometimes,
I am.   

Photo by Alessandro Bianchi on Unsplash

The Prompt

The delight and chaos of the holidays has commenced, and so I’m keeping today’s post shortish and sweetish. If you’d like a prompt to play with, dears, then I invite you to contemplate a growth edge in your life. My poem for today was inspired by my expanding efforts in recent years to feel my feelings, including the “dark” ones—to spend less time running from myself and a bit more time sitting with and tending to the emotions, memories, thoughts, and experiences that live in my cells.

Where and how are you growing—or trying to grow? What are you learning? What are you trying for the first time—or the thousandth? What piece of feedback from others is kicking around in your brain? What piece of pushback from your own life is kicking around in your heart?

Make a list, if you’d like, of all the edges, big and small, along which you’re growing or conscious of a desire to grow. Maybe you want to listen more deeply to your partner or children or friends? Maybe you are trying to spend less time on your phone? Maybe you’re working on engaging your glutes when you walk up the stairs, or you’re dabbling in learning a new language, or you’re trying to master a new-to-you cooking technique?

Anytime there’s learning or growth, there’s also challenge. What makes this growth edge jagged or difficult for you? How do you approach the bumpiness? How do you approach yourself when you bump into difficulty?

Let the answers to these questions—and any tangents they take you on—swirl for a bit. Does an image or memory or story or longing or fear rise to the surface and stick? Notice what’s sticky. Notice where the heat is. Write your poem from there. I’d love to read what you come up with!

Looking for a novel to read over the holidays? Or hoping to gift one to a friend? You can order my debut novel, ALL IS WELL, here.