While I am editing several poems on the public protest over workers’ rights here in Madison, I need to take a break and answer a call to a prompt. Too much politics leads to personal unrest, and self-care is a huge part of successfully managing my manic depression… so meditation and writing are a big help!
At We Write Poems, we were asked to write about “safe places.” I was a rover in my twenties, and these are but a few of the places were I laid my head to rest…
An unheated, leaky garage at an old rocker’s compound
A couch in a flophouse
The egg-crate pads laid on the floor of a nudist commune
Haystacks in a barn, as we helped with the harvest
Marcia and Jesse’s closet, the door unhinged (as was I),
the most comfortable vortex of all…
The beach in Venice, where I lay under an umbrella of starts
watching the slivered silver moon dance through my tripping eyes
An SRO, hot plate heating Chunky Beef Soup
Looking back at these havens, all were safe
Some were filled with love.
others with the scent of cow patties
and the sweat of an honest day’s work.
And still others bore the sweetness of smoke
from Mendocino County’s finest…
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil