The wind whistles, taps our windows and
dares us to get up early in the morning;

do we listen? The trees are moving, dancing
and everything is alive, the way you've

always craved. Not a cloud in the sky swirling,
but the palm fronds wave and the grass sways,

tickling your feet. We have been waiting for
these bursts of cool air to rush through, 

to redden our cheeks and push us outside--
just to experience it once-- then push us

inside again.

I hope you enjoyed this piece. I know it’s a shorter one, but I felt it needed to be with the momentum and the topic of wind– I was inspired by a particularly windy day at home. It felt like the windows were shaking! On another note, I cannot believe it’s December… holiday posts to come. Stay safe and healthy out there, and feel free to leave feedback as always!

Brooke

The roses you brought me have opened;
I'm still not sure what they mean but 

oh, how nice is it to be surprised with
flowers. So delicate and special before

they begin to droop, not unlike us.
I count the veins on the leaves, lose count

when I peer closer. How many times
will we dance circles around our arguments?

How many bouquets of sympathy
will we hand over to each other, waiting

for something to stick and one gift
to be the thing that triggers peace?

The roses are dethorned-- of course you
would make sure nothing else can harm me

after you already have. 

I hope you enjoyed this piece! I know it’s a little heavier than a lot of the poems I’ve been posting lately, but I had a burst of inspiration based on some… complex family relationships I have and the developments in those lately. For those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving in the US, I hope you had a lovely holiday given all the circumstances. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

Although I love the cold winter, 
there is something special about

the heat within, waking up under
warm blankets while white light

streams through the windows.
Just a little bit longer-- so feet

can stay toasty and all is peaceful
as the early-bird runners jog

down the street. We are here. 
There is no other way to be present,

dreaming of hot cocoa and sweaters
and lights hung up on all the houses.

But we are here, inside where
we can light a fire and forget 

about the cold, forget about 
what's outside again and again.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! Although it never gets that cold where I live, I’m definitely craving some winter weather at the moment. Happy-almost-Thanksgiving for all my fellow Americans out there! Make sure to stay safe and social distance. And as always, please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments.

Brooke

We are splashing in the swamp created
by the water that flooded those few squares
of concrete across the street from my house--
you know the ones--

and it's easy to forget that these days
only happen a handful of times a year,
sprinkled into our lives like clouds in 
the sky.

Water streaks down our light-rain 
jackets and soaks our muddy sneakers,
but there is still no need for rain boots
here. We pretend it doesn't bother us,

as we do with many other things.
And later, when we're soggy and
finally come inside, we can watch
the droplets streak down the windows;

it is comfortable in the warmth
but arguably much more boring.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! I wrote this as the first somewhat cold weekend started (“cold” meaning 50-60 degrees… I live in California if you’re new here). I love the cold but as a disclaimer, I also know that California cold is not actually cold at all! It’s a blessing and a curse– I don’t plan to stay in the area and there’s literally barely any other places that match California’s climate so I will have to adjust. Also, no snow here 😦

Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

People will tell you endings
are beautiful, and they might be right,
but if we've learned anything,
don't we know that life doesn't have 
to be beautiful (or be anything) for us
to enjoy it?

I will be happy 
with the cloudiest sunset,
the biggest cliffhanger at the end of the movie,
the hastiest goodbye hug,
if they bring us
closure.

Weep when it comes,
but appreciate it when it happens;
when endings are over, 
what do we have left?

We can stitch together beginnings
and ends, different threads 
that blend into each other until
they are all indistinguishable.

An ending will still be just that,
and I will await it patiently,
as it is hard to live in the moment
until you know 
it is the end.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! I think it sums up my experiences with time and self-reflection pretty well. Although I’ve improved at living in the moment, I still tend to have this attachment to endings since I won’t realize how much I appreciate something until it’s on its way out of my life. Let me know if you guys can relate–I’m assuming it’s actually a pretty common feeling. Please feel free to leave feedback or writing challenges in the comments.

Also, a note from pre-Election Day me (writing this a week in advance, as always): hoping for a fair election and a peaceful transfer of power. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

I am dough, kneaded on the counter
before it goes in the oven to be baked

into some puffy, round delicacy that
will be gobbled up. Warm in someone's

fingertips, no one is expecting much
beauty. It folds and folds, making me 

sick when I think about the excess.
The chemistry of baking is more

predictable than our bodies ever will be.
It's okay, since we'll sit here and wait

for everything to boil over, pounds
to pack on and batter rising over 

the edges of the pan. I never wanted
to spill out like this, but it is a different

feeling for everyone. It doesn't come
at once, but no one knows when the timer

will go off.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! Like everyone, I have my insecurities about my body, but a lot of new ones have popped up ever quarantine/springtime since I haven’t had as rigorous of a workout schedule. I know bodies change as we grow up, and that’s something I wanted to address in this poem. Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

I feel like a flower girl at the end of the aisle,
nothing left in my basket but rose petals

scattered everywhere, left behind and never
to be looked at as if they are actually beautiful

again. Someone will sweep them up, clean
up the mess like always. Maybe it will be me.

People ask too much, and I don't talk enough.
That's how you end up being a flower girl,

or anything for that matter-- you say yes, or
you fail to say no. And maybe you won't end

up like me, with pieces of yourself scattered
over an aisle that will be cleaned up by the

end of the night, never to be spoken about
again outside of describing pictures jammed

in frames and stories about first dances 
at the reception. I will always be there, 

but it may never be remembered. I hope your
pieces stay together, and your puzzle is completed.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! It was inspired by a combination of things. I was reminiscing on being a flower girl in my cousin’s wedding when I was only about five years old. Additionally, I was reflecting on the dozens of things I currently have on my plate and how everyone is asking a lot of me at the moment. I’m the one who can control my involvement and say no, but I hate letting people down. Regardless, I know things will eventually get better and this will be a time I remember only vaguely.

Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke

Surrounded by walls plastered in paintings by
names stored in textbooks we don't remember
reading, I tell you I love Impressionist paintings
and all things light. You tell me art is overrated,
and walking through museums full of art is the
best way to prove it. We can agree to disagree
and agree and disagree again, because it's easy
to blend each piece together after passing through
all these halls, every shade of muted oil paint
melting in our heads to make a rather unsatisfactory
dirt brown. I tell you I'm looking for the paintings
that excite me, the ones bursting with light, 
and you point to the window. The couple next 
to us isn't amused. We ponder how these landscapes
live up to what they're actually are, like humans
doomed to be different. 

I hope you enjoyed this piece! I cannot believe it’s October– soon it will have been a year since I last traveled somewhere new and exciting (I went to Seattle last November and had the time of my life exploring the city with my mom). I’m in the midst of finishing up my second semester of AP Art History online and I’ve also been thinking about all the art I’ve seen when traveling, so it made sense for me to write a poem about art. I’m not the best judge of art, as I don’t even know what I like.

Please feel free to leave feedback and writing challenges in the comments. Stay safe and healthy out there.

Brooke