Blog Archives - ER.rant IN.tersection

splashing surf

7/30/2014

toes dig in
at the edge of the shallow shelf
I stand sentinel
the constant splashing surf at my back
dull ache in my feet
a mom's duty
(and joy)

©Erin Croley

*Read more about this poem in the story "We All Chafe Our Dreams" on this site, or where it was originally published-Chafing The Dream.

tide of night

7/30/2014

a crow's nest view
of the Croatan Sound
trades blue for grapefruit
signals the tide of night
and lures us
to the water's edge
for (just one more) sunset

©Erin Croley

shades of blue

7/30/2014

shades of blue
let us know
where the shelf
drops off
and rises again.

tiptoes and lucky breaks
and salt in our eyes
we reach the sandbar.

watching wave riders
I ask, "do you want to boogie board
next year?"
"No," he answers
"I want to surf."

©Erin Croley
(Zee at 4)

taken apart

7/30/2014

this routine
where he ignores
and I gradually yell louder
forgetting love
and speak as if I've been taken apart
needs derailment

©Erin Croley

unnatural nature

7/25/2014

I was introduced to the poetry of Michelle Boisseau when her husband was a professor of mine at the University of Missouri, Columbia. He was an energetic linguist who made me love the OED and diagramming sentences so complex we had to paste paper together across a classroom wall for them to make sense. He mentioned once or twice that his wife was a poet, so I investigated and bought one of her books. Understory. It is her second book, and quickly became one of my favorites. This poem, unnatural nature, was inspired by Blood Sonata from Understory.

Written long before I had my own children, it highlights a belief that each new adventure started, or part left behind, was some sort of "birth". It was like starting over. But this isn't really what becoming a mother is like at all. When I gave birth, I didn't begin again, I reconnected to my past more concretely. Like the double helix of our DNA, my life as a mother now spirals upward connecting to all the people and moments that defined me, over and over, through multiple dimensions.

To be honest, I don't really like this poem. I'm not sure where I was going with it, or maybe am just too disconnected from it, but I do like what it reminds me of. I'm not sure it will remind anyone else about anything at all, though. Every time I open up this post, I make a revision to it. Who knows which version you are reading.

driving through georgia

7/14/2014

window down
feet on the dash
leaning back against the rest
I close my eyes
and hope my husband wakes me
if we pass roadside peaches

©Erin Croley

new harvest

7/13/2014

it's time to replant
these highways anew,
harvest billboards, and
reclaim
the view

©Erin Croley

chasing the wind

7/13/2014

landscapes shift
as radio stations fade
we seek without chasing
the wind curves our hands,
awakens tired eyes, and
reminds us to breathe

©Erin Croley

the stillness

7/5/2014

knees tucked
covers half on
on my side

waiting

the stillness

necessity and punishment
for sleeping late
when you share a bathroom

©Erin Croley

hidden

7/5/2014

ungreyed hair
smooth skin
uninterrupted sleep
memories and wit and
carefree days

are not hidden
I traded them for you,
thankfully

©Erin Croley