five poems
by Crystal James
I Am Her, My Mother’s Daughter
I hang my head in the kitchen sink
And fling shampoo suds about
It’s not the first time I’ve been too despondent to shower
But clean hair makes me feel like I’m trying
I squint with regret as soap streams into my eyes
I’m uncomfortably wet
A shower is far more enjoyable
I am her
The same scowl upon my face
When I hear, “I’m hungry” for the one hundredth time today
It felt justified to complain when I was a child
Our cupboards were often bare
But we have an overabundance of food in our pantry
Maybe my mom felt we had plenty too
I only had one sleepover as a child
In the morning light, I became too aware of just how empty
Filled with shame
As I reached to the back of the fridge
For the hot pink frosting container and a bag of bagels
It was probably the best morning for my friend
Marking the last time I invited someone over from school
I try on different versions of myself
For instance, someone who wears silky, matching pajama sets
Only to shove them aside as I grab an oversized t-shirt
I am her
I sleep in on my dark days
Curled on my side, crushing my skeleton
As a child, I would make coffee for my mom
and save a cup for myself
I’d leave the kitchen light off
Her bedroom door ajar
Curled up on her side
In her oversized t-shirt
I’d watch her frail skeleton stumble from the dark cave
To wash her hair in the kitchen sink
I am her
I didn’t have a name to call it when her hands waved wildly
Her voice cracked, and her face contorted
She would crouch down
Making herself smaller
Allowing the world to swallow her up
Gasping for air with confusion
She suffered
I am her
Wolf Spiders
Imagine a young girl
With a mattress on the floor
Because her father sold the frame
To buy things she doesn’t understand
She covers her body, head to toe
Draws the strings of her hoody in close
So only her nose is exposed
Tucks her sweats into her socks
Pulls her arms into her sleeves
Cuddles herself all night
For she is afraid of wolf spiders
It seemed they were everywhere
No one can be certain how many existed
-if any at all
But to her, real as ever
The proximity to the ground
With a mattress on the floor
Meant she was easy access
To prey upon
Good or Bad
As short as I am - a frame unable to expand
Limited words assigned by a girl
Who didn’t understand the world she was placed in
She lived through emotions huddled in two places
Good and bad
She sat quietly, balancing between them
Title: A birthdate
today’s a day I cannot forget
hard as I’ve tried
it’s not a celebration
there will be no cake
I’ll pop each balloon
its meaning has been wiped from living
yet, year after year it appears
it’s my oldest relation
glimpses appear in my reflection
half of me
it’s a bond I tried to sever
I tried to bury it in the ground
yet, here it is
unearthed
and haunting me
It was a war, wasn’t it?
I saw a red poppy flower
And I remembered the war
It was a war, wasn't it?
It made me almost late to my party, a birthday party
I usually scream it for the month
Begging to be celebrated and noticed
Was I ever really in attendance?
Skipping stones and ages
or holding tightly to that fleeting time, a summer of love and safety
But here I am. I made it.
And I invited her
Yes, her
I used to keep her stowed away
But she may very well be the best thing
About me
She couldn't wait to be me
And I couldn't wait to get away from her
So I picked her a red poppy flower
In hopes she'll attend
Today, I celebrate my inner child
Her strength and resilience
Her messy hair and shy voice
Her dirty feet and fearless climb
Her vigilance
Her hope
Her love for red poppies in August
Photo of Crystal James
BIO: Crystal James is a poet and artist residing in Asheville, NC. She believes in writing with an open heart to heal herself and possibly others along the way.