NaPoWriMo#24: A Life In Photographs

NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

A Life In Photographs

By Justine C. Tajonera

It didn't happen if there weren't any pictures.
Last December, there was a Christmas tree
behind us. We were all smiling, almost all of us,
anyway. In the tableau, there are little details
that we might have missed: a Royce paper bag
in the foreground, stars and Santa Claus decor
lining the stairs in the background. The picture
is slightly blurry but it's the smiles that count.
Our kids will all be older in another photograph
by the end of this year. But there, floating in
an album on Facebook, is one of our happiest
moments. I am astonished at the life I have
lived here, in digital, on a cloud. No, here is my
life, tagged and organized by folder. Here is
the shell of my life. I take a breath and imagine
a crash, a virus, a new business model that
will wipe this all away. No, in the end, my life
will flash before my eyes and it won't look
like this. Not like this at all.

NaPoWriMo#18: Picture

NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

Picture
By Justine C. Tajonera

In the picture we look happy enough, like happy
families that are all alike. Broad grins, the light reflecting
on our hair. I look fat. That was the year you had me drink
nutritional supplements after several years of being
dangerously skinny. I like that picture. I don't know
where it is anymore, probably in a box because
you've always been such a pack rat. I shut out what
I don't like to remember. Better that way, perhaps.
Maybe you were taking the picture. I can't bring myself
to step over the line and cross to you. I only get the
news. I remember sitting on the marble sink, watching
you rubbing Pond's cold cream on your face. It was
one of those days when I could talk to you. I can't go
back there anymore. It's all frozen in the picture.

Wallace Steven's Of Mere Being

Last night, I attended an introduction to a seminar and heard this beautiful poem, written by Wallace Stevens, recited at the close:

Of Mere Being


The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze distance.

A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.

You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.

The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

I wasn't familiar with the poem before but I was haunted by it. It is true that happiness does not emanate from outside one's self. It is always a view from the inside. It is always about the position one takes in life. That's something worth remembering every day.


The sunrise, a majestic view, the peace of a quiet garden... all of these things have no human meaning on their own. It is what you and I agree they are. It is what you and I have made real.


October 27, 2010
Image from flickr.com/aussiegall

Entering the Light

by Justine C. Tajonera

There are days when
I have time to study
the shadow of a leaf
at the edge of a wading pool
or glimpse the reddish
tint of dawn before
my alarm clock rings.

There are days when
I can watch my son sleep
and wait for him to slowly
awaken with a smile on his face
or the slightly puzzled look
of someone just emerging
from a dream.

These are the days that are
enough,
when time is not a measure
but a great expanse,
a canvas of possibilities.

I know because there are
also days, in equal or greater
number,
when there is just not
enough:
a chasing of hours
into the exhaustion of
evenings,
a blur or repetition
of motions.

In the quiet palm
of good days
I rest my questioning,
my drive to
finish what needs
to be finished

and hold the flickering
light and comfort
of solitude and
happiness where they
can shine
in their immeasurable
brightness.


October 5, 2010
Image from http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/337143

Morning Sun

by Justine C. Tajonera

This morning, I watched you
wake up.
Your eyelids were flickering
with a dream,
your long lashes wavering.

And then you yawned,
a wide open pink mouth
and white teeth
in the sunlight,
your arms stretching slowly,
your back arching
with no hurry,
no worries.

There was no reason
for you to wake up,
no job to go to,
no school work
to begin.

That is the privilege
of being
three.

But you woke up,
nevertheless,
bound by some inner
clock of happiness
and wonder.

And then you looked at
me and smiled.
We heard a plane overhead
and you said,
"Airplane!" like a great
discovery, the headlines
of the news.

You headed straight
for the refrigerator
and drank your
soy milk
with a straw,
already weaned
and independent.

What I would give
to not say goodbye
to you
this wonderful,
sun filled
morning.

For Badger
(April 26, 2010)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/87807550@N00/126164015/

Happy Face

By Justine C. Tajonera

Things need to
get done.
The clock moves
forward, relentlessly,
bleeding from
one hour to
the next.

But everything stops
when I see his
happy face,
even the one
he puts up for
purely illustrative
purposes.

Moment melts
into moment,
stretching apart
like well-loved taffy
and anticipated mozzarella.

A separate world
consisting of
lollipops and pink
frosting and
blocks that turn
into robots
appears
out of nowhere,
reassuring me
that happiness
has no
reason.

(Jan. 7, 2010)