An amazing thing has happened. The First Line has produced an audio version of my short story, “Efficiency Leads to Fulfillment.” It first appeared in their print magazine in 2020, then was later reprinted in Workers Write.
For once, words fail me. I can’t describe the feeling of hearing other people bring my work to life. I’m enormously pleased with how it turned out.
Also, if you’re considering subscribing and/or submitting work to any literary magazines, The First Line is a good choice. They do blind reads, so all stories are chosen on merit rather than personal connections. They charge no submission fee, and they pay at least a little. Much higher standards than some bigger name publications. I always look forward to a new issue.
Anyway, give my story a listen. It’s about ten minutes long.
My firstborn came to visit recently, staying for eight days. Due to the fact that I rarely call out from work, I had abundant PTO in my leave bank and was able to take off the entire time for a staycation. The spouse was also able to use vacation most of the days. And son the younger works from home, so was able to flex his hours.
We did a lot of nostalgic activities and generally had a blast playing tourist in our own area. This included a day trip to Onondaga Cave, a place I haven’t visited in at least 15 years, though I did write a poem about it once. It had been long enough that the tour was fresh and new to me, for the most part. And even the bits I remembered were still awe inspiring, well worth a revisit.
walking paths/handrailsstairs
Onondaga cave is immense. Though there are a couple of places where adults need to duck a little, there’s no crawling, climbing or ropes involved in the exploration. Trails and handrails have been put in, and there’s an option to sit out the steepest part of the tour. Still, you need to be able to do some hills and stairs and to be on your feet for quite a while. If you’re able to do that, it’s a fascinating place to visit.
Since it’s operated by the Missouri Department of Conservation (incidentally, one of the top state conservation departments in the country), it’s well maintained with an eye to preserving a healthy ecosystem. That means there are no tours during bat hibernation season. A piece of good news we learned from our guide is that bat populations are starting to rebound after being nearly decimated by white-nose syndrome.
Some of my favorite spots on the tour:
The Twins (cave pillars)Fancy curtain!More fancy curtains!
Saving my very favorite for last — the Lily Pad Room, where mineral deposits sitting in a pool of water take the shape of lily pads. It’s breathtaking.
This race is indeed not to the swift and is not a race. Today we like speed. The whole world in an instant with a keystroke. Third-graders: do 100 addition problems in five minutes. Speed proves competence. Service so quick you’ll quake, or something like that. Nobody should wait. The gravest sin is to slow others down. That’s above ground.
Enter this cave and the standards invert. Muse upon the mighty stalagmites. Take in the tightly clinging stalactites. Marvel at the pace of growth, an inch per hundred years. One. Inch. Per. One. Hundred. Years. That’s where the awe comes in. If they formed at a fast clip, we’d chop them out, carry them off, stack them in our garages, intending to use them in a craft someday. There would be no sense of wonder. The slowness makes it so. Speed wins the day, persistence the millennia.
I celebrate Independence Day complete with watching fireworks. Despite the major flaws of many of the country’s founders in overlooking the equality of certain races and genders, I believe in the core idea of people forming the government and everyone having a say. But I’m troubled by what passes for patriotism in some circles these days as well as the backward movement on human rights. Anyway, here’s a poem I wrote and a playlist I curated for the day.
Allegiance
The city filled with flags proclaims its puffed up patriotism the billowed colors clamoring for adoration, for awe.
The crest of a cardinal catches my eye instead, my loyalty pledged to saving it, to a future of scarlet feathers brightening trees.
A constellation of white wood anemones on the creek’s bank garners my allegiance, my hope for beauty in the years to come.
The first blueberries of the year bring with them a taste of wonder and a wish for a republic filled with enough fruit for all.
Tomatoes, roses, rainbow stripe, great whales, clean snow, and polar bears, blue morpho butterflies, clear skies – all things for which I take a stand.
** And my playlist, in large part celebrating those who have been historically excluded.
We did it, folks! Thanks to donations from several people, my poetry raised $270 for the City of Refuge. I don’t yet know the total raised from all poets participating in the Poem-a-Thon.
I wrote to the prompt today, for my final poem. “…write something about celebrations–an event you celebrate, or how you celebrate. How do you turn the everyday into a festive occasion?” This is a little rough, but I can polish it later.
A Little Party Every Day
I try to have a little party for myself every day – good advice from a random stranger on the internet.
I made it through the workday without crumbling and my legs are strong. My phone is the portal to a million songs enough reason to dance, swaying to one upbeat tune before engaging with pots and pans and chopping knives. Pop a sparkling water and raise a glass to snuggly cats and exams passed as my loves share the small joys of their lives. For enduring my dreaded recurring chore — clipping coupons and meal planning squeaky cart wheels and standing in line — discount flowers from the grocery store. A donut on the deck, stationed for a prime view of the pollinators darting and busy from color to color, planting accomplished and now a moment for observation. A camp chair under the carport with a cup of red rooibos tea the joyful tap of rain above me there’s time for a party, no matter how short.
It’s the penultimate day of the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I had to send the bucket deep into the well to come up with anything today.
This Like That, That Like This
It’s funny how when I hear tires whooshing along roadways in the distance it can sound like ocean waves rolling in and out, the rhythmic pulsing of air at steady intervals. Maybe it’s my mind grasping for the ancient familiar to make sense of the now or the impulse to create categories – this like that, that like this, a mirage of mastery over what is uncontrollable. Or. It’s possible. A connection is present in a real way the great mechanism of our running universe providing the beat for all we create and experience.
Day 28 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. This is my most stream of consciousness poem so far, thinking about all the stuff happening everywhere.
Continuance
I sign petitions and people continue to suffer I attend rallies and people continue to suffer I hold signs, I write letters, I scrape ten dollars From my bank account to help the cause And maybe one person suffers a little less I raise my voice against attacks On the vulnerable and the attacks continue The attacks continue but next to me An ally is signing a petition Community members are rallying for justice Workers are sharing their hard-won earnings To make the world less sick, more fair And maybe a few people suffer a little less And maybe a handful suffer a lot less Suffering continues and attacks continue And solidarity continues and the work continues And sometimes joy breaks to the surface And those who care continue to stand Shoulder to shoulder because What else is there to do
Getting my poem up late tonight. Entry 27 for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon is inspired by a memory of a camping trip with my husband.
You, on the Riverbank
On my early morning walk I sought solitude on the path to the river believing I wanted to be alone. All went as desired until I turned at the last bend and there you were ahead of me, already taking in the newly wakened sunbeams tapping sparks on the water. You didn’t hear me stop behind, gazing at you gazing toward the far bank through the center of a jagged wreath of willow leaves perfectly shaped for the view, the light glowing around your silhouette focusing you at the center of the scene, all the world I could see a frame for you.
In the home stretch. It’s day 26 of 30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I’m writing about hummingbirds today.
The Hummers Tease
The hummers drop hints that they’ve returned to the trumpet vines one more year. Tiny shadows blink through green sinews like floaters in my eye. Look at them directly, they disappear. Orange blossoms are not yet open. Look elsewhere little thimbleful of feathers. Grow and come back in a week. Then dangle your colors before me as you feed giving me more than a tease.
Day 25/30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. Today’s poem was inspired by a conversation with a dear friend about the issue of taking up space while female.
Taking Up Space
Trying to outrun the apologies that cling to my essence I search for a space out of the shadows search for the daring to claim some corner of light a space to expand to my full magnitude, an unshrinking unwary unsorry soul focused on more than survival maybe more than a corner of light maybe without even asking permission more than a corner not seeking permission
Day 24/30 in the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. This feels pretty unfinished, but I’m calling it okay for tonight.
Bridge
A wooden foot bridge spans the creek that divides the park near my house I raised my kids on this bridge or so it seems when I stand on it now recalling the span of their years at the site of our former daily adventures when adventures were daily This bridge was a place to loiter and plan to learn about ripples and gravity as twigs and rocks dropped to the current It was our place to wait and watch the fish and crawdads and neighbors and birds. Once on a cold day even a great blue heron, a solitary event the span of its wings startling in enormity We always brought home stories A bridge is not primarily for lingering of course and the crossing seemed an ever satisfying feat in a young life a solid accomplishment I was there on the other side and now I’m here in a new place with a clear line between the two.
Nomadic Noesis 