This poem is the first one I’ve written in over two years. I sent it out once for publication, but it wasn’t accepted, and I’m not particularly interested in hopping back on the submission train at this time, so I’m posting it here. If you know me, you know that I’ve been sewing a lot of cloth masks and selling them via my Etsy shop, SleepyMapleTreasure. Thus, this poem.
Masks
For years I’ve tacked poems on the wall, all my favorites: Gilbert, Plath, Hopkins with his absurd sprung rhythm, my friend’s words for her anniversary, and of course, there’s Auden’s…
I’ve decided to write mini essays in diary form about this pandemic and its impact on me and my family. Why? Because that’s what I do, I suppose. FYI: Terry is my husband. We’ve been together since 1987, married in 1992. My kids are 23 and 25. My younger son is still in college. My older son is working at a startup. It a joy to have them living with us as adults, and I am very grateful they are here now. I’ll be updating this as the days go on.
Day 1, March 24:
Terry is sick.
Shit.
Day 2:
Today’s update: Terry is okay…
Perilous behavior seen while hiking…
I like to hike. I like to hike in all weather and in all seasons, and after so many years spent out in the great natural antidepressant called The Woods, I’ve seen some lovely views and had some fun times with rain and snow and blisters. Hiking is healthy. Research shows it’s good for your mind and body. Everyone is doing it these days, right? So, of course, humans being what they are, things are bound to get weird sometimes. Like, really, really weird. Let me tell you, I have seen some crazy sh*t over the years.
Allow me to…
And then my body betrayed me.
They told me that getting old sucks, but I didn’t believe them.
Everything I read/heard/absorbed told me that perimenopause is a natural part of growing older, and I didn’t question this for a long time. In retrospect, I should’ve known this shit wouldn’t go well for me — I’d already been through an oophorectomy (surgical removal of an ovary). That experience, if nothing else, should’ve clued me into my body’s extraordinary ability to screw with me, especially in the face of something that is supposed to be “natural.”
But really, what does it mean to age naturally? We all lose…
Christine Klocek-Lim
Poet, novelist, editor—loves alliteration, metaphor, and buttons. Can often be found in the woods looking for a view.
