"Nature does not hurry yet everything is accomplished." -Lao Tzu a flower can be a poem all by itself color replacing gray newsroom days each petal, lined hues of good news the glory of opening ourselves to live again ©Ali Grimshaw 2022 Covid finally caught me and I am learning how to accept it as an uninvited guest. Sending you wishes for wellness. Join me at earthweal this week: Lessons from the Wild Photo taken on one of my neighborhood walks.
I was that edge, frame frayed threads separated whillynilly curving off in various directions nibbed and frazzle fuzzed leading to unraveled times with scissors, I cut loose ends to regain control or at least create an appearance of smooth evenness but it was not an honest look just a pretending of edged calm © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Join us for dVerse Open Link Night HERE
Palms upward as hands face sky open spaces between fingers relaxing into what has been a time of gentle and harsh scrubbing of the heart. Every inch of skin Brillo pad raw. An exfoliation of what has been. My fists, no longer clenched in tight survival, trust in slow unfurling. Pain tingling as blood returns to fingertips. Learning feet reground my trunk to an upright position, toes rooted past sand into bedrock. Freeing now agile hands to sift through the helpful lessons caught in my soft palms as promises while unneeded thoughts fall through finger spaces to join other decomposing conversations of days when I didn't know listening. Composting the no longer serviceable into nutrients for the new words to come. © Ali Grimshaw 2021
This poem was inspired by this article. Interview: Artists Rebuild Refugees’ Emotional Memories of “Home” Inside Suitcases By Jessica Stewart
“Working together with writer Ahmed Badr, architect and sculpture artist Mohamad Hafez listened to the stories of refugee families living in America and helped shine a light on their experiences. As two former refugees themselves—Hafez from Syria and Badr from Iraq—this is an issue close to their hearts. The result is Unpacked, an emotional multi-media installation where the voices of each family tell their experiences as viewers engage with an incredible scale model of the homes they’ve left behind.”
“Each model, created by Hafez, is packed into a suitcase as a symbol of the baggage these families carry forward into their new lives. As Hafez listened carefully during the interviews, which often ran six to seven hours, he was sketching what he heard. Using what he discovered, he was able to mold their memories into a visual representation that leaves no question about the dire circumstances these refugees faced.”
Unpacked will be on view at the University of Madison-Wisconsin – February 5, 2020 to March 15, 2020.
© Ali Grimshaw 2019
One day I finally knew that I could swim
in the blue of the sky.
That I was as strong as my declaration.
My fears, teachers made just for me.
That there would always be cracks to slip through
times of trembling, shaken awake to fall again.
Then I stood next to the lake,
a mirror of blue sky wholeness,
arms wide with acceptance
I, the problem and solution
dove into
reflection of release.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2019 (rewrite of 2017 poem)
Photo taken on a family trip to Varenna, Italy 2016
Home was a dented silver trailer
simply, without shine inside and out.
The window view of the sea
its evolving colors of cloud and fog
filled her need for decoration.
A square sky painting above the sink
included her in its masterpiece
filled her with belonging
and a soundtrack of constant rhythm
wave reassurance, murmurs of the earth.
Passersby with lipfrowning judgement
downcast looks of pity at her dwelling
would never know her contentment.
She had found her community
between wind and simplicity.
© Ali Grimshaw 2019 (Rewrite)
Spills splattered the walls.
Counters filled with clutter,
multiple piles creating a new geography in the room.
There is a relief to cleaning it all away.
Everything in order. Repair and replace.
The seduction of a new cycle, sparkling clean.
Free from marks of history.
What if we could sit with Chaos
for just a little minute?
Feel the wind in our ears.
Hearing her secrets of cleverness.
To soak in the learning of this undone space.
Before an opportunity is erased.
A past disinfected before she can author her story
from which the plot differs from
perpetual duplicating.
First published on Vita Brevis
she wished to glue
leaves of color back onto the limbs
unprepared for season’s shift
then her dormant suitcase looked up
with eyes of grace, a reminder
of past orbits around the sun.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Leaves play tag in the breeze
as cars chase green lights.
I am the only stillness
in the city this hour.
Living without permission
no need to ask, “Am I allowed?”
The leaves don’t ask to dance
down the cracked sidewalk.
I grant myself this moment
this sunlight soak before
winter darkness.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 