in process: speaking up, and teaching our daughters to do the same

Speak up

This is the thing I want to say:
when I was young
I never knew that there was
more than one path open to us,
that we could make the difficult choice
but I want you
to know it.

Sometimes I don’t know how to do
the thing that I have to do,
the thing that I have chosen.

Sometimes my
skin feels inside out
and my body like it is in 12
places at once.

Sometimes I try to tell someone
but I am behind glass.

No one can hear me.
No one can see my face
without a blur hiding its detail.

Lately I am a calm sea
quiet, with slow, constant motion
but no release.

The small waves
are lulling me into a trance
that will take me through
the long days of darkness
and winter and waiting

but this false calm
cannot last.

I am ready now
to show my
true face.

I am made of fire and earth
and they do not hide.

I look around and see
so many others still hiding

and I wonder why we keep
trying to exert ourselves
over things clearly
so much more
powerful than
we are.

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Blue Hour Anthology accepting submissions

Hi all, My fellow editors and I have decided to open submissions for Blue Hour Anthology number 4. We are delighted to bringing this back and are so excited to see what everyone sends us.

So please send your visual art, poetry or short prose submissions to bluehourmagazine@gmail.com by March 15th.

We are responding to submissions as they come in so send them on over!

Thanks!

An Idaho Art Fair

We had gathered
as families often do
in times of grief or
celebration,

and after having spent
an entire day together
were ready for a distraction.

We passed a community
art fair in an old fire station
and decided unanimously
to stop. The building was
in decay, but beautiful.

We walked slowly
through the isles
rows of artists and art
of all shapes and sizes
and levels of quality.

I came upon a painting
abstract and full of color
layers upon layers of paint
like the surface of the moon.
I could see a silhouetted face
if looked from the right angle.
I was instantly transfixed
and gazed at it unmoving.

The painter, who had been
watching me, eventually
said hello. We said our
pleasantries and he learned
I was a student in from out of
town for the baptism of a cousin.
I learned that he was a veteran
who had recently taken up painting.

The time came to leave and
reluctantly I began to walk away
from the image that had so
drawn me in. As I turned the older
man touched my arm pulling
me back unto his booth.

Take it, I want you to have it
he said lifting the painting
off the wall where it hung.

Dismissing the offer I assumed
he was looking for a sale.
I really don’t have any money
with me, I’m sorry, I would love to
buy it, but I just cant.

I know he said nodding his head,
its ok, I want you to take it anyway.
I want you to have it.

Are you sure? I was puzzled and
slightly distrustful.

Yeah, I can tell it spoke to you.
Take it. He handed me the painting.
 
I muttered Thank you as I turned,
quite thrown off by the exchange.

My family was calling. I had to go.

Walking through the parking lot
a younger cousin looked at me oddly.
Did you buy that?
No actually, the guy gave it me.
Gave it to you? Why?
I don’t know, he just did.
Huh.
Yeah,
 it was sure nice of him though.
My cousin nodded.

When I arrived home
I immediately hung it
on my wall, where it
suited the room perfectly.