once you’ve forgiven yourself
do not un-forgive yourself on
each anniversary of the guilt
—Terri Guillemets
once you’ve forgiven yourself
do not un-forgive yourself on
each anniversary of the guilt
—Terri Guillemets
the scale now shows me
one hundred sixty-eight
but in those simple digits
I see rejection and pain
sugar, laziness, exhaustion
hormones splayed out of whack
menopause ready to rumble
plaque buildup and repressions
anxiety, regret, some depression
the past, the future, sheer panic
tension, disoriented expectations
ice cream, sweet junk addictions
griefs, hurts, disappointments
bad habits, cliffs, fear, falling
the eating of all my emotions
gluttony and gorging ghosts
turbulent raging blood glucose
sleepless nights, too-busy days
nerves, toxins, worry, age
unwelcome rapid-fire change
lack of trying, trying too hard
loss of control, culinary excesses
no longer fitting into my dresses
—Terri Guillemets
“…we are human beings who can never be born enough…”
—Ken Sekaquaptewa and Candy St. Jacques, Sahuaro, yearbook of the Associated Students of Arizona State University, 1970
i don’t want to be
just a strand of dna
passing through time
or an echo of a face
repeated down the line
just another leaf falling
from the family tree
a bloodline that someday
ends with the end of me —
i want to be the sky
or an eternal poem
wildflowers growing
wherever seeds roam
i want to be the wind
or wandering clouds
or the rain that drifts
or a free soaring bird
or starshine at night —
eternity’s glowing
ethereal light
—Terri Guillemets
Spring and summer come with a lush layer of foliage over reality, but when things start falling away in the autumn and get bare and stark in the winter we’re forced to look at things more as they really are, including ourselves.
—Terri Guillemets
Earth tilts toward Winter
my heart goes tilty too
the summer-fever cools
to a more reflective hue
—Terri Guillemets
Our bodies are meant
for the sun, the rain
the gusty winds
starlight and moon baths
fresh air and seasons —
so why do we trap ourselves
in indoor cages?
If we can’t hear birds sing
or feel invigorating breezes —
how are we to be refreshed
to heal, to know the world
beyond the borders
of our bodies?
—Terri Guillemets
Now that I’m over the hill
I can see it’s just made of
skeletons of dead monsters
that were never really there.
But that past is no less high
and no less there, and I am
no less on the other side of it.
—Terri Guillemets
Fortune is a centaur —
half man, half luck
—Terri Guillemets
in bed at night his mind had a ferocious imagination
reality and unreality haunted his turbulent brain
the years ticked, an infinite clock of destiny
searching moonlight for the promise of a future
his reveries of heart were coasting on a fairy’s wing
as the world and universe drifted by fantastic shores
but the sea, work, and women — physical outlets —
were his anchor — something old, hard, and soft
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from F. Scott Fitzgerald,
her smiling girl-heart danced
behind the grey, grey hair
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from Enid Bagnold,
it’s not that the people
with nice shiny attitudes
haven’t been banged up —
but they buff out their
dings and scratches with
gratitude and positivity
perspective and grace
resilience and courage
with purpose and faith
—Terri Guillemets
Grief bores holes
in our hearts & heads
like a woodpecker
— peck peck peck
— knock knock knock
You can’t make it stop
Eventually it flies away
— but leaves pits
that never fully heal
—Terri Guillemets