YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO HOME BUT YOU CAN’T STAY HERE

Today’s response to MURI’S 2020 CHALLENGE FOR NATIONAL POETRY MONTH.  Like the 2019 challenge, this consists of 13 prompts, one for each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in April. They can be completed in any order.  If you are interested in participating, click on the above link for the prompts and posting guidelines.

Prompt #11 is “Write an acrostic poem using a word to describe your worst enemy.”

Menopause hit me like a ton of bricks.  Fat cells gathered for a family reunion in the space between my armpits and knees.  When the party was over, I couldn’t get them to leave so I let them hang around.  I fed them cheese manicotti and Pringles.  I encouraged them to be fruitful and multiply.  “Size doesn’t matter” became my mantra, along with its pants tag cousin “16 is the new 14.”  But those extra pounds caused a lot of old friends to turn on me.  Suddenly, everything felt tighter—elastic waistbands, t-shirts, armchairs, the space between my car and the garage wall, my chest when I walked a couple blocks with the dog.  There were more and more things to avoid—fitting rooms, swimsuits, photos that showed my chins, high school reunions, rickety lawn chairs, Spanx garments capable of suffocation or entrapment.

When I resolved to lose weight, the cosmos used every trick in the book to try and stop me.  NOOM proved too technologically challenging.  The local gym was pricey and required an extra pair of shoes, ones that had never set foot in the outside world.  Nine days after I joined, they shut down due to Coronavirus.  The same week, the nurse called with my lab results; I was to decrease my thyroid medication, which would make my mission even more difficult.  The grocery store ran out of low-fat mayo and multi-grain flatbread.  But the more the universe thwarted me, the more determined I became.  I counted calories, swore off snacking, and upped the daily dog walk to a mile.  I crocheted to keep my hands busy.  Over a period of six weeks, my afghan grew and I shrank.  Not so much that I’d blow away in a strong wind, but my enemy is not as formidable as he once was.  I’m on the road to victory!

IN THE REARVIEW

Worrying about BP, diabetes, heart attacks
Every year, buying new jeans in a larger size
Insecurity, avoiding mirrors, dodging selfies
Going toe-to-toe with the fridge and losing
Hating the scale with its big black numbers
Trying to squeeeeze into a shrinking world

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LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Today’s response to MURI’S 2020 CHALLENGE FOR NATIONAL POETRY MONTH.  Like the 2019 challenge, this consists of 13 prompts, one for each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in April. They can be completed in any order.  If you are interested in participating, click on the above link for the prompts and posting guidelines.

Prompt #4 is “Write a cascade poem.”

OK, Muri.  About what?  I guess that’s up to me.  As I scan the room for inspiration, my eyes alight on an overfull laundry basket containing an afghan that has been in progress for ten years or so.  Actually, it was a failed sweater that kind of cascaded into an afghan.  ‘The Beast’ has been relegated to my Unfinished Projects Closet a number of times.  (For more info on my UPC, click HERE.)  One of my Lenten resolutions was to work on it for an hour or so every day.  Having to stay in due to Coronavirus provided the necessary couch glue (a substance similar to writers’ chair glue) to get the job done.  I am on the homestretch now, pulling from the very last skein.  I should be finished by Easter.

CHANGE OF PLANS

Many rows of sweater unceremoniously unraveled
I exchanged my knitting needles for a crochet hook
Soon an oversized afghan shall rise from the ashes

Project Fair Isle began with 10 skeins of wooly yarn
and a novice’s zeal.  Result not as ‘fair’ as I’d hoped
Many rows of sweater unceremoniously unraveled

A gorgeous tangle of blues and greens and indigos
too itchy to wear, too pricey to waste.  What now?
I exchanged my knitting needles for a crochet hook

And crocheted a long row in the only stitch I know
doubled back and added 36 skeins found on E-Bay
Soon an oversized afghan shall rise from the ashes

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