I know Amber pretty well, so I say kindly, she didn’t give me a lot to work with. She said she wanted to be inspired and have some words meant for her. Amber asked me to use the word “toes.”

This is the F I N A L poem in this ten poem capsule. (I didn’t realize I closed the portal at ten, but that’s a great number, so I’m happy.) It was my first attempt at Poems For You, and I’m so thankful to anyone that’s read or requested. My brain kinda hurts from this hard work though, so I’ll spend my time now working on articles and my podcast. This is a wonderful poem to end on, because it celebrates the weirdness of being creative, and how things come together in funny ways.

I wish you much weird, creative, funniness in your life.

For: Amber

self, made collage by unsteady hands
requires a sense of humor to see the potential
in loose clippings, paper shreds cracking wise
about how an image comes together
the joke is on wholeness for thinking 
it was more special than its parts
only an artist appreciates the cracks,
giggles at fault lines,
recognizes the glue in places it tries to hide,
can paste an image of a rake in place 
of where toes should be — and why not? 
creation is joy dressed in absurdity,
painted the color topaz and maude,
watercolor strokes run free across the page,
untamed and understanding the lesson of the wild,
scraps have gorgeous use 

From: Maya

THE END

D wrote to me about feeling vulnerable and thinking a lot about self-image and wondering how other’s see her. She wanted a poem that would make her a little bit more whole. She asked me to use the words, “tracking” and “sunset.”

For: D

I wish you
tiger’s eye at sunset,
sea salt and lemon pools
The warm knowledge
that mirrors are thieves,
and try to steal your image for themselves
Have you heard it con you
into thinking it’s worth less
Tracking only by the trail 
of glitter you leave behind
Confetti and ticker tape fall,
creating a mosaic of reasons 
why you have nothing to prove 
I wish you a cup that overflows
The simple acceptance 
that you are evergreen,
wily and artful as spring,
so dangerously inspiring,
ink is bled in your honor

From: Maya

Greer told me that she has been feeling restless and lonely and a touch heartbroken. Oh, and a little hungry! She wanted me to use was “franchise.”

For: Greer

Pay attention to neon signage,
drawing gaze to the darker corners
To your dilapidated storefront that’s lost love,
still playing music parents swayed to 
Somewhere South of where you are: nostalgia 
Carrying stale laughter around like a souvenir keychain
Blowing dust off the archives
Artifacts from the careless days cropping up on the side of the road 
Memory’s franchise, 
found even in the isolated backwater, in the foreign, steel cities 
I forget the taste of the original 

From: Maya

Sophia talked to me about feeling unsettled and having a lot of change in her life, both emotionally and physically. She has been thinking about home as a concept and had a desire to feel more grounded. The word she asked me to use was “Rip Van Winkle.”

For: Sophia Seki Fox

Rip Van Winkle falls asleep and wakes up to thirteen stars. Nationhood piecemealed from tattered rags. Dust. He time travels without sleep walking in any direction. Dreams in two languages. Crops familiar, but the grain goes against him. Slipping into old units of measurement like warn wool. Thinner than it used to be. Does he say, in centimeters or inches, “A revolution happened and I never cracked an eye. Because of my absence, would understand if the ground refused to hold my weight. But it does. Layers of home peel away like an onion. Birds sing stranger chords than I last remembered. Proof of my capacity to hold music in abundance. The places we live change without our permission. So it is. Wherever I am, we are alike in our newness.”

From: Maya

Lexi wanted a poem out of curiosity, and because it’s fun to get writing addressed for you. I couldn’t agree more. She wanted me to use the word “growing.”

For: Lexi

Mid-sentence, caught ankle deep in grout
but unblushing, these tides have been lowered by sheer will
For every falsehood unraveled, an inch has gone
Neighborly villains are the most common kind and 
when you’ve been tricked enough, there’s no room for magic 
What I’ve done to shrug pretty off my neck goes with me, one day
Growing tired of the prolonged reveal,
see the wolves before they don sheep's clothing 
Drew my clever tongue in the image of my enemies, long gone
Stones weighing down champagne silk, pure grit finds its way to shore

From: Maya

Julia asked for a poem that would make her feel focused, centered, diligent, and strong. She wanted me to use the word “watershed.” I was really drawn to imagery of hot lava… why? I do not know.

For: Julia

From the core outwards, magma flows
cascading into crimson watershed
brilliant molten lava, glowing lamp to light the way 
scorching out the road as planned
blueprint dreams hardened to ground work 
scaffolding that won’t rust
eagerly flowing,
and all this, from me

From: Maya

Jess told me she was feeling stirred up and felt like she was on the verge of change. She talked to me about movement and energy and wanted me to use the word “overgrown.”

For: Jess

first inclination was to 
splice together shards of vase, broke 
didn’t witness its form birthed on the wheel 
wet clay venus shaped by some hands
(who to thank for god-given wavering faith)
calluses overgrown, felt fingertip guidance to release
delicious, lonely tension before Vase kissed Tile
and the crashbang, wherein velvet parts collided,
particles speckled the floor and a shiny, new cosmos began

From: Maya

Olivia told me she was feeling sad about graduating and very nostalgic. She wanted a poem to encapsulate the feeling of wanting to go back to school and accept all of what happened. The word she chose was “fridge/refrigerator.”

For: Olivia Loaiza

Those Thursdays, kaleidoscope vision
Telling stories to every version of you I see
Backlit and glowing against these peeling walls
Girl, we hand built this stage to slink across,
loyal audience cued for raucous applause, 
collected roses on the end of a good night
No one taught us how to cast a glance, but eyes meet
and like magic, I know, we were some sisters in a past life
Bloodlines elastic, met here again, calling you “bitch” out of celebration cuz
we are free to wear our sharpness like warm fur, in this timeline
Put sincerity on ice, becoming fridge leftovers like the rest
Feeling fuzzy, tucked “I’ll miss this,” into our back pockets,
moments we promise to stitch together in the lucid morning
This labor of love; trying to thread us back together from memory,
for the mornings to come

From: Maya

Lily told me she was feeling out of touch with the world because of all the craziness happening and was nostalgic for times that never happened. She wanted a poem that would be cathartic and asked me to use the word “turmeric.”

For: Lily

Baby mobile turning with the grace of a key that’s met its lock
In these first months; unafraid of doors that could open in the dark




With cherub-softness gone: Aged, and coming undone    
To teethe through tragedy is to wait for disaster to erupt  
Believe, she was once soothed by sea-sawing motion,
and without two feet to stand on, befriended unsteadiness




Even when swaddled in uncertainty, 
lullabies heard from the cloistered crib,
this dim, sheltered corner of the world she turns into, 
are not less sweet




Never begged to see another turmeric - hued sunrise, then
But it came — And still devoted, it comes for her

From: Maya

For her poem, Iman told me about hiking in the grand canyon with blistery feet with a friend and wanted me to use the word “bear.”

For: Iman

years ring hollow to the sandstone standing still  
the length of our shadows measured in bittersweet
laughter, we howl like the moon once belonged to us
still pining after champagne soaked goodbyes,
clutching the clock hand tight, hiking in the canyon
where medicine comes as an echo
old enough to know how to ruin ourselves
and still perfecting, voice reverberating off these cavernous walls
because the water that once coursed through here like an artery
is dry now, missed this reflecting pool by more than seconds 
we are far from nature’s perfect mirror,
but I will bear your image for you 

From: Maya