I am staying busy 

by Olivia Gwyn

The sky fades to pink, lilac,

deep indigo,

black

I am busy loving you 

when the darkness comes 

I keep myself busy, ignoring 

the sound of the unknown knocking 

at the apartment door 

I am busy kissing you on the lips 

and carrying our daughter on my hips 

I stay busy looking up at the leaves

and placing books on hold at the library 

I am planning my daughter’s Halloween costume

for two years from now when I can’t see my hand 

held right in front of my face 

I am busy filling up notebooks, slowly, slowly,

letting the shower head rinse my hair

Feel it flow down my scalp 

running, collecting in rivulets over

my neck where my hair no longer falls 

I am running my hands through my hair 

and crying when I feel afraid 

and learning not to cower from the darkness 

Look at the light all around me

Let me press it into paper,

find my scissors and cut it into pieces,

folded over and over again, to confetti

Spread to the masses 

like You fed the 5,000

Abundance from lack,

enough from nothing,

faith like ashes

How generous You are to show us,

even when we were too stubborn to see

I am staying busy,

like the jar of oil 

in the hands of the widow

who had no reason to believe

Where I thought the darkness 

would consume me—

Bread and a little oil,

more than enough to go around

— olivia gwyn

 

Nothing but a hound dog

By Olivia Gwyn 

I let my poem out the door

and it runs on short legs

to go see the world

He sniffs the grass 

and doggedly chases

an audience

The squirrels easily outpace 

him with other things

on their mind

It doesn’t take long of this 

before he’s panting and looking 

for something to drink

He plops down on the short hay bales 

and scratches himself, wondering

if there’s something he should change

Eventually, he falls asleep

he didn’t notice, but a few people 

paused to admire him as he slept

He would’ve watched his drool 

if he’d known, but he’s a basset hound 

and he didn’t know

By the time he wakes up

it’s cooling down 

but the ground is still warm 

And he doesn’t feel like looking

for an audience, so

he lopes back home

I open the door 

and rub his ears

and he licks my face

And who cares about an audience anyway?

 

You are only 6 weeks old when you start smiling at yourself in the mirror

And I don’t need to 

use too many fancy 

words to say

I hope you never stop,

delighted at what you find there—

a miracle, remembering

How when God made 

you he made everything 

out of nothing

My whole world 

— olivia gwyn 

I watch my dad's sister cry

I watch my dad's sister cry

I watch as my dad’s sister cries,
telling us her dad will miss breakfast, and tries

to act like it’s not the beginning of the end, 

the forgetting

I listen as my friend tells me how much older

her parents are after being away,

how it feels like they’re leaving bit by bit 

every time she turns away

The loss never goes away
I keep waiting for it to pack up and go west, 
to leave me to plant my gardens and frame my pictures and buy flowers 

that remind me of you

But it lingers 

even before the loss has come
on the periphery,
like the blurred edges of a sepia photograph

Hasn't it always been this way?

I wait with bated breath 

for an answer,

begging under my breath 

to be proven wrong

— olivia gwyn

 

Springtime

It’s the Monday after Easter 

when I realize I only have a 

certain number of spring times left

Have you noticed? 

It makes me want to drag my feet 

and look closely at the spiderweb 

sprawled across open air 

I remember the need to take my shoes off, 

marvel at the specific green that appears 

for a day and then is gone

Teach me again to climb the trees 

one hand over the other, one foot over other,

one scraped forgotten knee over the other

Let me lie down in the shade,

feel the sun dab her brush of watercolors 

on my skin

Let me soak in the sound of the birds 

who’ve come back for us year after year,

after winter, after despair— hope

It never fails us, somehow

Let me grab hold of it with both hands

I will not count down the springtimes 

I have left on my hands

The promise of today is enough

This spring, the only one of its kind, 

precious and holy and good, like a reminder,

like a gift with intent to delight

— olivia gwyn

Waiting

I listen to my friends

crawling bruised on their knees

in the dark

Hoping for something else 

I’m tired of watching

us waiting

— olivia gwyn

 

 

Grief dances

Grief dances her way

through the streets of the slum

while the women whisper— 

No shame.

Grief lingers obtrusively

in the corner of your eye 

at every family gathering—

Sprinkles distaste on all your old favorites.

Grief hounds you at home,

begs you to leave,

wishes you would stay—

Never satisfied, like a mother, with your choice.

Grief returns 

like the cowboy in a western

come to duel for the soul 

of a dusty decrepit town.

She returns 

like the shivering autumn leaves

to the dirt,

like your unrelated aunt 

showing up to visit unannounced.

Grief crashes

to the floor like a pot 

from the kitchen cabinet 

in the middle of the night.

She is a sudden summer thunderstorm.

Grief returns 

like the hair tie you lost,

the water bottle you forgot about

and don’t want to wash,

like the cilantro you left in the fridge.

She returns 

like the golden retriever

at the end of Homeward Bound—

Stubborn, relentless,

            kissing your wet, 

                            messy face.

— olivia gwyn 

 

Lately I am tender

Lately everything

matters and hurts too much

and I feel young and tender

and jerk back from feeling

before it takes over

Lately I try to breathe 

against the hurt of the world

people are dying, wanting,

fighting, losing, losing,

and I know them all

Lately I count money

to a soundtrack of an empty room

an empty seat at someone's table

and this is all too ugly for a poem

and I hate it and I hate it

and I want it to be gone

Lately I am tender 

but some people can't afford to be

Lately I am tender

and look for gentleness in your face

and I can't always see

but your face too is tender

and it weeps for all these things

— olivia gwyn 

Let me hold you a little while longer

 

Let me hold you a little while longer

I roll over in the middle of the night / to go pee for the third time / while our leader sleeps soundly through the night / I stumble reaching to turn the florescent light on / and worry about what kind of world / I’m bringing you into / while the most powerful man in the country / shines his fluorescent white teeth / in the name of exclusivity / The sun goes to bed early and comes up late / and my dreams are dark and / drag at my limbs to stay in bed / You kick me from the inside / and I know you are almost ready to face / the cruel world, the fluorescent, angry lights / I dream for you in the dark / gentle sunlight on your face / young grass clutched eagerly in your firm fists / toes dipped in cool clear water / and shrieks of delight from your sun dappled cheeks / One more night I whisper / and try not to cry and instead / try to think of every good thing that could ever be / and not about how I’ll never again / have you here so close to me / the illusion of safety / Let me hold you a little while longer / Let me dream for you and build / with my own two hands against the rising tide / a world more kind than home.

— olivia gwyn 

Mercy

  

Mercy

The sun hits me in my eyes 
on the way home from my appointment
you beside me driving home 

The sun hurts my eyes and my head 
and I snap at you and worry about
what I don’t know

You offer me pineapple out of your open hand
and I could cry with my eyes closed
against the merciless light of the sun

How easily I forget 
what I do know

How quickly I am offered 
another chance to remember 

You 
you 
you

— olivia gwyn