Abby's Poetry

As promised, today I am excited to share with you three of my sister’s poems! And if you love them (which you will, obviously), I will be happy to post more of her work. 

Just Add Water

Fall 2014

I was walking one storied afternoon 

Between the building of books

And the building of choices,

In the rain

On the tar, when the sidewalk was

Just as empty, and one step up

And calling like a mother, concerned.

My coffee mug waiting expectantly,

Hugged by more fingers than necessary

Slowly becoming less empty;

And me thinking maybe,

After all,

That the purpose of my whole existence 

Might be this:

To catch Virginia rain

And dehydrate it

And send it in packets with pigeons

To wanderers of the Sahara

So they could just add water 

And drink

Because even though they’d laugh

And claim it didn’t mean too much, 

The youngest, wisest one would know

That Virginia rain is wetter than anything,

Maybe because of the fairy tears

Or melted snow leaking from Narnia, 

At any rate more than just water; 

And dehydrating it doesn’t leave nothing at all,

Only nothing visible per se,

And that’s never the same.

So this would be a service for me

And for them a joy, 

If only they would understand. 

And while my gift

Would not be the difference 

Between thirst and quenching,

It could be the Styx ferry

Between hardship and adventure.

(After he teased me for drinking my coffee from a mason jar.)

Spring 2015

I’m afraid we’re two parallel lines, 

my dear.

We couldn’t intersect if we wanted to.

And we don’t.

You, because what you really want

is a sine or cosine

to intersect you all the time,

And I’ve always wanted a tangent.

But I can’t help admiring

The intensity with which you run

Toward wherever it is you’re going.

And it’s somewhere, I know,

But do you?

I think I’m lucky,

Because while you’re driven

And I’m carried,

Somehow, it appears

We’re going to eternity in the same direction

Both ways.

Butterbeer

Fall 2015

Tonight we made butterbeer, casserole, 

And pumpkin pie,

Wished we still carried machetes,

Wondered how we’d survived it all,

And cried.

I’m only twenty

But I can’t breathe under the weight of all these memories

I’m all grown-up now.

I always said when I grew up

I’d be big enough to remember

How awful it was

When he broke the glow stick. 

Another sickening crunch in a warzone,

But it didn’t glow.

We’ve been breaking for years

And haven’t seen the light yet,

But flowers smell nicer at night. 

I carry a flashlight, 

And she watches for snakes.

We taught ourselves the names of the stars,

And the stars taught us the music of the spheres.

It’s hard to remember now, but

We knew daylight once.

Maybe the sun will come up before we stop

Believing in it.

For now there’s casserole.

What about you, my little coffee beans? Do you like to write/read poetry?