Beginning a PhD-Event poetry clusters on inquiry of happiness, humility, and self-care

1. Do NOT use the following words:
   1. Discourse
   2. Hegemony
   3. Subjectivity
   4. Problematic
   5. “Post”- anything
2. Expect furrowed brows when discussing your research.
3. “Oh! You have so much time to work out now!” Smile tightly. At least that’s tight.
4. Remind: no, it’s not teachers college, that was eight years ago, remember?
5. Assure that you’re not going to be a stay at home mom now. You’re not even pregnant.
6. Go to the basement. Wear thick socks. Look through old journals. Remember everything you always wanted for yourself. This is part of that.
7. Doze. Read. Try The girl who was Saturday night (2014).
8. Feed the dog too many treats. Walk her in the woods around 4pm, right when the light gives you sideways glances through the pines.
9. Let yourself be driven through your hometown like you’re 14 again. Let the adults talk. Lean against the cold window. Listen to the radio. Pretend to be in the music video.
10. On the plane ride home, open the meditation app you downloaded while waiting in the Zone 4 line. Listen to “Silk Waves” for “reduced anxiety.” Quickly switch to Robert Johnson.

The sky grimaces because

I always stare, causing discomfort. He

twists his clouds up into funnels,

trying to create a portal of

escape.

But he can’t leave here; he’s stuck.

Uncrossing his legs, he spreads them wide- like

the men on the bus who heat up my knees by

forcing them together to rub until

I’m dumped off at Main- he sighs a

scorched wind and slouches into the sunset.

I look away, satisfied, and a little lower now,

seeing even from here that someone’s fallen

on the mountain; a thick vein of packed snow

marks where they slid, likely headfirst, down the

north side.

A couple of white birches were hit- their skins

rolling tightly into themselves like little fists, ready

to strike. It’s nothing critical-

but some leaves are still vibrating.

They didn’t see it coming and

that scared them.

Now, the crocuses are poking out in the valley,

spilling purple everywhere,

reminding me of when I buried

costume jewelry in the garden.

I thought I could grow more bangles and broaches,

that they needed extra

sunshine for that sparkle.

Now I know that’s all overrated;

it’s much better to look out and churn

the grey.

He’s prickly, peculiar, but

more striking than I am-

so uneven, always converting.

I derive from a wild, natural

tendency to cause destruction that

No one sees in me. I retreat;

I cannot restore myself. I thunder

through authority shrunken,

l

o

w.

There are considerate ones

in countries where the power

is business cared for by

people who do compassion, and drink

ire.

So,

we wait.

spring breeds history.

Cottage Friends