sarahlillardwrites
The Perch
A poetry and lyric essay project by Sarah M. Lillard
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Five From Today - 4/22/19
i.
This morning I had kiwi fruit with breakfast. I always eat it with one end cut off and dig into the tangy green with a spoon. I love the accumulated juice at the bottom of the kiwi-cup when I’ve successfully plunged the depths. What delight can be found in eating beautiful things.
ii.
I had acupuncture for the first time today. I have experienced an increase in my chronic pain in the last week and my headache was starting to tear me down by 9AM. I have some very tender spots in the nape of my neck and the doctor placed one of the tiny needles right in the middle of it. I’m not sure if it was supposed to help right away, but here I am 8-hours later and it still hurts like anything.
iii.
There is a trailing vine that grows wild by the sunroom window. I want to train it over a trellis to create a tunnel into the back garden. But for now its a tangled mess on the flag stones and it’s threatening my fledgling iris plant. It grows constantly, and I think that if I sit still and quiet enough I will be able to catch it creeping on my flower beds. Alas, I cannot. My life moves faster than the pace of a green growing thing.
iv.
I have eight tabs open in my browser for literary mags I have read. In theory, I would like to submit poetry to them, but when it comes time to pick poems to send, I stare at my poetry folder and tell myself none of this is good enough. Self-doubt very alive in me. Does that mean I’m a real writer now?
v.
The tickseed I planted 3 seasons ago is alive and thriving already this year. Their proud little lion faces make me smile. Though they are small, their striking deep yellow color cannot be missed and the curly-q stems they sit atop add a note of whimsy to the front garden. Though I don’t have much energy to garden this year, I can enjoy the fruit of labor past and be content for today.
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#writeblr#autoimmune encephalopathy#poetry on tumblr#pots
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Five Poems From Today - 4/19/19
i.
Take Care With Your Questions
“One, two, three, four. You have four children?”
“Yes.”
“Is number five at home?”
“No.”
He’s in heaven.
ii.
Gray Cat Birds
The Gray Cat Birds returned today.
With the window open and
The heavy, humid air putting
A sheen on every surface,
I hear him sing.
His vocal acrobatics could
Spike envy in Pavarotti.
It sounds like homecoming.
It sounds like love.
iii.
Cause/Effect
The rain fell.
The flowers now stand at attention.
The sun sets.
The evening chorus performs a dirge for dying light.
iv.
Personal Weather Station
My hair is an anemometer.
My head is a barometer.
My left shin is a hygrometer.
v.
Wooden Whales
In the fading light
the stumps of the
recently felled
ash trees look
like whales
breaching a
stone ocean.
Migration stalled,
they point north.
Destination
unreachable.
#poetry on tumblr#poetry#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#writeblr#short poetry#micropoetry
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Five From Today - 4/17/19
“Your mantra is ‘pacing, not pushing.’” My doctor makes me repeat that mantra at each follow-up appointment. Pacing myself has included limiting how many words I write. I am fighting the urge to push. Mothers will uniquely understand how painful that has been for me in the past week.
Each sentence — each word — is a struggle this morning. I’m so tired that my brain feels leaden and my neural pathways seem to be overgrown with ivy and tangled brambles. I hack my slow course toward clarity and only hope others can follow after me.
I’ve watched the red maple in the backyard go through incredible changes in the last 2 weeks. From the delicate presence of blood red flowers to the washed out orange before they fall. To the again winter-barren branches that give over to tiny white-green leaves that grow by centimeters by the day. I can’t wait to see it in summer lush vibrancy. Won’t be long.
It’s spring break for the kids. The weather has been gorgeous the last two days. The kids’ shoes are muddy; there’s a ton of laundry to do; radioactive green pollen covers everything; there are lots of sneezes and itchy eyes around here; the song of twitterpated birds sails through open windows.
I learned a word — Rubatosis: An unsettling awareness of one’s own heartbeat. I used to hear my heartbeat in my dreams as a child and it always precipitated the shift from neutral to traumatic circumstances. Maybe that is the root of my uneasiness when I am aware of my heartbeat. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one.
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#poetry on tumblr#pots#writeblr
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Five From Today - 4/15/19
It was a very unsettled night. Between the thunderstorm and my dreams, I awoke feeling tired and off. I had such a difficult symptom day yesterday, I wasn’t sure what to expect today. Today has been better so far.
The last thought I remember having before sleep took my conscious mind was an idea for a poem describing my headache. Scattered images: fusion of skull plates; green lightning; razor-edged leaves cutting through the rock of bone. Not sure where I was going with all that, but there’s definitely a poem in there.
Our “swamp” is getting a workover today. Maybe it won’t be a swamp after all this. Three mountains of rock sit in our driveway and the kids have been mountain climbers all afternoon. It’s a blustery day and the drama of their play makes me jealous of their energy. If I had it in me at all, I’d be out there with them, for I know my way around a rock pile.
Today, Notre Dame Cathedral is burning. In the second semester of my junior year at UMD, I took a course in Gothic Architecture and Notre Dame was a focus of study. I remember marveling at rose window and the grand, yet delicate exterior relief. The builders and architects pushed the limits of architectural and scientific knowledge to build spaces that were worthy of the presence of God. It’s a beautiful, if misguided mission. God is still there, even among the ruins and ashes. God’s dwelling is a broken and contrite heart.
River rock is one of God’s most artistic expressions in creation. I mean, those colors are just showing off.
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#pots#writeblr#poetry on tumblr
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Five From Today - 4/13/19
Yesterday I rested my mind. Curiosity requires much — attention, focus, depth. I didn’t have that in me, but this morning I felt more like myself and my mind could afford the price of curiosity.
Bram and I had sushi for lunch. I love time just with him. It feeds my soul in a way unique to him. Almost 18 years of being us (17 years married in August) and I’m keenly aware of how much I benefit from his presence in my life.
Pulled more weeds in the garden today. Bram and my mom helped so I wouldn’t over do it. I noticed some weeds tumbling out from under the deck. They reached for the light because they were cultivated in shadow. They live and thereby seek the sun. We living things must have light to thrive.
Mom helped me set up my beautiful fairy house in the garden. Geraniums and moss flank the tiny dwelling. I want fairies to be real.
Happy birthday, Mimi! May the Lord continue to bless you with joy in Him, energy to keep building up the Body of Christ, and health to accomplish His will. You are an unending source of encouragement to me even from afar. I love you.
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#poetry on tumblr#pots#writeblr
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Some Things From Today - 4/11/19
Not five today. Maybe just three.
1. My cranio-sacral therapist told me that it feels like my head is rearranging itself today. Is that why I feel like my brain weighs 100 pounds? Is that why tears are just below my eyelids and the slightest pressure causes them to pour out? Is that why I’m not myself yet?
2. If I’ve responded to your text messages or you’ve seen me or talked to me on the phone in the last two days, I hope you know that means I care for you because I had to steel myself for that interaction. It costs me something to be human post-treatment days.
3. God, you see me. You know the intricacies of my frame. You made me. You carry me. Please, give me eyes to see what you are accomplishing.
#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#pots#writeblr
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Five From Today - 4/10/19
Treatment day. IVIG. I’m stressed anticipating the discomfort.
Left hand this time. The poke of the needle and the slight burn as the “baby catheter” slides into my vein.
The bag of saline goes in first with a shot of steroid. The pre-meds are making me feel sleepy.
An hour and a half later we switch to the IG. 15 minutes in, I start to feel the “buzzing” and the pressure under my skin. It tugs at my consciousness and snaps back like a rubber band. My head aches.
I sit in this chair and watch old movies and listen to the ball game. 8 hours of strangeness and blood pressure crashes and dear friends checking in. I don’t feel as hungry as previous IG days. I do feel wrung out and unlike myself as usual.
#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#pots#IVIG Infusions
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Five From Today - 4/09/19
Today was hard. Tomorrow will be harder.
I woke up from a terrifying dream early this morning. It started off fine, but then I was forced to watch as a cat died and then a person at a meeting I was attending turned into a werewolf-like monster and attacked me. I was in a very vulnerable position and though others came to my defense, I was found myself outmatched. What’s going on in my brain?
I spent almost all day in my sun room. I wrote that lyric essay about Terry Jones (at least the first draft), finished a poem, and edited 2 other poems before submitting them to a lit journal. Hmmm…I guess I was productive today despite how my body feels.
I love listening to Tom Hamilton call baseball games.
I’m lying in bed. My house is South-facing and my bedroom has one window that faces East, so the sun fills the room in the morning. It’s sharp and forces tired eyes to squint. But right now the golden afternoon light creeps down the hall and reflects off the uneven white painted walls and the deep-toned wood floors. It’s so inviting. But I used up all my energy to get up the stairs and climb in bed. Oh well.
#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#poetry#pots#poetry on tumblr#writeblr
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Five From Today - 4/08/19
Corinne was so happy this morning when she realized it’s Monday. She was looking forward to going to school so that she could go to recess and and skip on rung on the monkey bars. She has no idea that so much of the world despises Mondays.
Had to go into the doctor’s office for more IV fluids. Though I drink 100 ounces of water a day, I don’t retain much. Putting it straight into my veins is more effective. My body sucks it up so quickly. I taste it in my mouth and feel it in my hands — a cold tingling — and my fingernails feel heavy like they are pushing down into the sensitive skin underneath with the weight of lead. The sensation lasts for a few hours.
During the drive home I noticed the wind sweep some petals off a flowering tree and the woodwinds swelled just after Vito sang*, “Grant us your peace…” and it was perfect.
I’m kinda regretting it already, but I couldn’t help but pull some weeds from one flower bed in the back garden. The ground is so soft and the invasive plants came out easily in clumps and my fingernails were caked with soil and it was good. I am, among many things, a gardener.
I’m trying to get myself into a new habit. Perhaps you all can help keep me accountable. Whenever I read something online that rankles my insides, instead of allowing anger to blossom in my chest, I want to stop and pray that I will love my neighbor in thought, word, and deed, and then pray for the person who incited my anger that God would meet them where they are. I’m so tired of anger and outrage.
*Welcome Wagon, Light Up the Stairs, track 10 “Lamb of God” — so good, y’all!
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#lyric essay#autoimmune encephalopathy#gardening
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Five From Today - 4/07/19
Words have been like bricks lately. If I carefully handle them I can build a sturdy structure, but when weariness sets in the brick-words become dangerous. Their weight and edges are like weapons. I’m more likely to injure myself than make something beautiful.
Gathering with the church today was good for my soul. Not only did I get to see and hug a dear friend who serves refugees in the Middle East (hi Kimmy!) but I also got to hear God’s word preached powerfully (thank you, Justin!) and I got the distinct impression while singing that someone in that room was meeting Jesus for the first time and would never be the same.
Some days I wind down like a pocket watch and no amount of rewinding will give me energy again.
I love how my kids smell after they’ve been playing outside. Like sweat and sunshine.
Submitted another poem for possible publication. There’s such pain in hopefulness.
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#lyric essay#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#autoimmune encephalopathy#writeblr#pots
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#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#spilled thoughts#spilled ink#poetry on tumblr#writeblr#short poetry#word art
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Five From Today - 4/06/19
Some mornings I just don’t realize how I feel until I start interacting with other humans. I’m so comfortable with myself and my thoughts that only when I have another person’s feelings and needs to consider do my needs and expectations come into focus. I need others to fully understand myself.
Bram and the kids have been splitting and stacking the Ash tree logs today. The air smells of fresh wood and honest work.
I love to watch pollinators at work. As I sit on the stone steps going down the back garden I hear the tell-tale buzz of a bee. I’m close enough to see her proboscis emerge to gather the nectar of the creeping phlox. She’s a Hairy-footed Flower Bee and her delicate fuzz is a lovely sight.
My wren friend sings lustily in the sunshine. He flips upside down on the suet feeder to reveal the tessellated feathers of his underside. My presence does not seem to disturb him.
Corinne asked me who hung the bunting in the trees. She was surprised when I told her that I am the culprit. After a moment of thought she asked, “Did you do that because you felt happy, or because you wanted to feel happy?” What a perceptive question from my newly turned 7-year-old.
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#poetry#writing community#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poetry on tumblr#short poetry#poets on tumblr#writeblr
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Five From Today - 4/05/19
House Sparrows have nested again in the protected corner of the gutter just above my kitchen window — where the eaves and top floor overhang overlap. They are busy and protective, not unlike me. We sing to each other. A morning hymn of praise for new mercies.
It’s the end of quarter “Teacher Work Day” and the kids have off from school. They are being kind to each other and playful just now and I’m glad we put in the hard work of promoting peace and friendship amongst them. They genuinely enjoy one another’s company and it makes my weary heart rejoice.
My shipment of IVIG arrived this morning. Infusion (number 5) will happen Wednesday next and I need it badly. It’s difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that these 6 vials of medication are worth thousands of dollars. Other people’s antibodies are costly.
The skin across the top of my knuckles is so thin that if I so much as look at my hand sideways I get at least one bloody split. Devastating to my hand modeling career.
With the spring rain there’s been a steady stream of tiny black ants making their way into the sun room. Every time I squash one I think of “The Book of the Dun Cow” by Walter Wangerin, Jr. It takes a fine writer to make me think twice before killing ants.
#poetry#chronic illness#writing community#autoimmune encephalopathy#lyric essay#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poetry on tumblr
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Five From Today - 4/04/19
I made bunting to string through the trees that remain in the north corner of the yard. Strips of ribbon in blues and orange and cream. They wave in the wind and it’s lovely.
I crave beauty. Where there is no beauty I feel uncomfortable and stressed. I go to great lengths to make things beautiful — at least I used to. Now I realize that I’m stressed all the time for two reasons — I have too much adrenaline in my body thanks to my overactive immune system, and this un-beautiful mess everywhere I look.
I could really go for some salt & vinegar chips right now.
Why do I think of tree trunks as brown when many trees are actually various shades of gray?
I should go fold that mountain of laundry, but I’m going to stay in my spot sunning myself like a cat and listening to the birds sing instead.
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Five From Today - 4/03/19
I don’t think I trust people who have strong opinions about candy.
As I sat by the window I saw one of the neighborhood foxes trot past. His coat still has some of the winter coarseness about it. He squeezed through a gap between the ground and the bottom of our cedar fence into our neighbor’s yard and I watched as he snuffled the lawn near a patch of onion grass. I like that smell, too, sir.
There have been reports of Bald Eagles in the neighborhood and I’m jealous that I’m not the one who discovered their presence. How dare they skip over my tree lined garden! But then I remember my beloved chipmunks and now I don’t mind the Eagle’s snub. They better leave my little cuties alone.
The Ash trees came down today. Changed the whole complexion of the yard. The light falls differently and plays unfamiliar in the corner that is now the sight of daffodil carnage. This will take getting used to.
Just after the tree crew arrived and my husband gathered with them under the trees to plan their demise, a wren alighted on one of the dead bare branches. He puffed out his little pearly breast and sang. It was an elegy — a threnody — for the Ash trees. He knew what was going to happen and grieved for their end. 50 years, we surmise from the rings, those trees sheltered and fed and shaded. I’m glad I was a witness.
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