Jodi Anderson Poetry

11001

In these moments between

thought or dream or sleep
during that vacant pause

I lie on my back in Sweden
hair-plaited
gazing at the sky

wondering why I ever left.

© JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

11000

grief is a black-ink well
i dipped my heart into eight times.
it seeps through and eats
my belly.

there is no anatomy
to fill that hole.

stuffed with cotton,
no one is any the wiser.

© JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

10111

There are not any words for alone --

only tightened gasps,
stifled breaths,
small and invisible deaths

displayed inwardly with brilliant accord.

I stood on a rail for this,
arms straight and wide,
heel-to-toed the distance. 

© JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

10110

the sweet and welcome stench
of melancholy

stakes two cold steel poles,
frosted,
grasping each a weathered flag -

one yellow, one white. 

standing below,
the wind equally whipping both,
is a sight that does not grow old. 

melanie coolly nags

same as ever,
smooth and bold and wise.

she will be sleeping with me tonight.

© JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

10101

when you want to hold 
your heart's heart  
so much that the lock on your chest

bursts,
and the squeaky hinges of this door

scream,
you cry with happiness and grief
(and grief, and grief);

there is only the earth
and your knees meeting it
in parallel collision

and embrace

and not relief.

© JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.