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