Defenestrations


  1. i write poems for you

    i want to know you
    when i am
    and we are
    smiling light
    and seventeen again.

    i want to hear you
    when i can
    and we are
    alone and memories
    are silent.

    i want to see you
    when i will
    and we are
    silent sighs
    from dying eyes.

    i want to smell you
    when i do
    and we are
    absent minds
    drowned in vacant thoughts.

    i want to taste you
    when i do
    and we are
    vanilla and cinnamon
    stirred about with summer. 

    i want to feel you
    when i do
    and we are.

    © 2012 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller
     

  2. Tumblr, I don’t know why …

    Sometime in 2010 I was looking for some kind of place to blog or something. I don’t know why. I just felt like it was something I’d like to try. Several friends had told me I should start a blog. I don’t know why. So I looked at some of the blogging platforms several of my friends used, trying to pick one I liked the best, and I decided tumblr was the coolest, so I set up an account. I don’t know why.

    And my blog languished in obscurity for about a year. I think I posted around 5 times. I followed two or three people who I knew “IRL”, as the kids say, and they followed me back, but I didn’t really spend a lot of time exploring tumblr or tracking tags or really doing much of anything at all. I don’t know why. Then in the spring of 2011, I realized I’d had my tumblr for awhile and not really done anything with it. So I thought: you should really do something with that blog, or else just delete it. But I didn’t know what to do with it. So I set up a queue and started dumping a bunch of the poetry I’d written in high school. I tagged it #poetry because that’s what it was; I didn’t know anything about the tag system. I just did it. I don’t know why. Then, someone was creeping the poetry tag and found a post or two of mine. He was a moderator of Spilled Ink at the time, and reblogged me there. All of a sudden, random people I didn’t know started following me, and I was like, “what?!?” I followed them all back. I don’t know why.

    All I do know is that by becoming connected with a community of writers, I rediscovered writing for myself, in a serious way. By interacting with these diverse writers, I became (re)connected with the craft. By reading their words, I felt the urge to create — an urge I’d stifled for years whilst I pursued more “practical” endeavors. By connecting with these fellow creators, I connected with a passion I’d let stagnate. I brought it out into the light and let it flourish, and I realized this was the song my soul sang. I’d been playing something different and we were off-key and out-of-tune and somewhat discordant. As I burned through pages and pens and whiskey and beer, I somehow managed to find that harmony again, with a love I want to nurture and a passion I’m willing to push.

    I suppose I have tumblr to thank for that. I don’t know why. It seems silly to credit a blogging platform with (re)finding your calling, but I suppose, in a way, it has — or rather, has reminded me of what I knew all along, and never quite had the courage to pursue. Here I’ve found my voice, and my voice has found a following. And many have found their own voice — or rather, the courage to post their writing — through me and mine. I’ve touched people. I’ve connected to people. I’ve learned from people. And I will continue to do so. But moreso, I’ll continue to believe that my words have the power to touch, to connect. I’ll continue to believe in my words, and by believing in my words, I’ll believe in myself.

    And no matter how many “official” rejections I get, I’ll continue to come back here, knowing that y’all will continue to embrace me. I don’t know why.

    © 2012 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

  3. In You

    Alone I feel (mosttimes) light and real and mostly-muchly me. With you (most of you) I feel stilted and subsumed, yet with these I felt strong. They are a weight I can bear; a feel my heart can carry without being dragged under by a random rip. Our souls sing to solace in the same tune, and this weekend, we harmonized. And we learned.

    We learned that we are aggressive. We learned that we are free. We learned that we are connected (in part by learning how very much we are apart). We learned that such connections can be carved in concrete by blades as dull as paella and pie.

    We saw what we already knew. We already knew we all were writers; we were, before, and we are, still. We knew we had distinctive voices and focuses and feelings and thoughts. And now we see them festered full and fresh and whole. Four (of a party of five) voices rendering in written word moments only moments previous past; stilted conversations etched in stone to be remembered for at least until erosion takes its toll.

    Your memory is laughter at midnight. Your absence is afternoon naps. Your weight is worth wounds wrought of want and worry. Your mind is open and wary of your weary heart. You are love lost and found twice over, reading like an equation for someone who finds numbers slippery rather than solid and still. At worst, we are never more than what we are in dreams.

    We are solitude subsumed by laughter. We are loud drowned by slow-sipped scotch and wounded whiskey and verile vodka and brazen beer and we know. We know. We know that we can sing in harmonies discordant and dialectic. We know that our hearts stop for matters both good and ill. We know that in this moment we are young because this moment is transcendent and therefore outside of time and therefore forever here and now, even if it becomes later there and then.

    We are moments, and despite the green of spring, we are gold.