Gently, Gently
There is not a power in me
that mirrors the might of a mountain
or the intensity of the ocean.
I do not possess the ferocity of a
midsummer storm.
No. I am subtle magic.
I unfold slowly,
curling around you like tendrils of smoke.
I am quiet magic.
The kind found in the charm of a small town
or on the face of a still lake,
reflecting the sunlight,
making it dance around you.
I will not turn your world upside-down
or inside-out.
Instead, I will wade through it,
bathe in it,
let it coat me so that I know the
deepest
parts
of you.
Simplicity
Poetry is the backcountry three-finger salute,
my digits slowly rising from the steering wheel to acknowledge
the only other car I’ve seen on this county road
in the last ten miles.
It’s the small café in a town of 251 people,
the waitress charging me $1 for three cups of
Maxwell House Breakfast Blend,
throwing out a “Hey, honey” at every turn.
It’s deep, dark dirt that makes up the
hidden lavender farm on highway 127.
Iowa soil can grow anything.
It’s the rolling rows of harvested corn,
a solemn sacrifice not so solemn
because this is what they were made for.
Inconspicuous magic.
Things Better Left Unsaid
You said that I was a book
you’ll always wonder about.
I said maybe that’s the beauty of this entire thing.
What I wanted to say was:
I want to be your favorite book.
I want my words forever embedded in your mind.
Your fingertips,
stained black with the ink from my pages,
are extensions of palms that know my weight
as much as your own.
The earthy scent and cracked spine
on this well-loved body
bringing you comfort and joy.
Bringing you home.
I want to be the book you carry with you.
Keep me close.
Slumber Party
Anxiety makes a bed of down and cotton,
inviting me to curl up in her tight embrace.
Depression brings out my favorite blanket,
tucking me in tight,
making it hard to breathe.
I can always count on these two being there.
Being here.
They now whisper to me,
one in each ear,
asking me to stay awhile.
They remind me of how cold the outside is
and how warm this bed has become.
Perhaps I’ll lie here
just a little bit
longer.
How the Tide Saves Me
I’ve always felt at peace
while watching the ocean’s tide.
The rhythmic waves settling
a heart that often beats
too quickly.
The constant roar drowning out the
destructive thoughts that
bounce around
inside my head.
I taste salt on my lips,
feel the sand move beneath me,
and I know,
deep within these worn bones,
that I am home.
Emily Bauer
, a born and raised Iowan, heard the call of the mountains and decided to answer. She currently resides in Portland, OR, where she is the lead barista at a local coffee shop. She spends her free time drinking too much coffee, eating all of the vegan food she can get her hands on, and writing poetry. She hopes to one day start traveling and never stop. Catch her while you can.