close up
golden mirror
I love you
40 face
I posted this poem first on my other blog, hoboharmon.blogspot.com
TRAMPOLINE
A few months to create this
our collection, Celebrating Sound.
patience with myself for
no knowledge, no workbook
of how to do this.
Fear in fingers,
Fear in sitting still,
Fear to decide,
Fear to get critiqued.
This is my manuscript
my rough draft to the world.
I know how to do THIS.
I AM your reader.
I am the paper gatherer.
I secured these poems,
originals in your red faded folder
from New Mexico to New Jersey.
I made photocopies at my job
26th floor at Source Media,
knowing they were my treasure.
A lifetime to honor us,
our story,
we share the stage.
I keep learning, asking questions
continue Celebrating Sound.
I am live speaker of your magic
word weaver of our conversations
extender of our love.
This book is trampoline,
This book is mixture
facts experiences memories
mistakes
my errors
my love
my fear of how to do it right.
This book is every day I prefer different pieces.
I mix and match sentences,
take stanzas from our poems when I
perform, read aloud
like tops and skirts
poetry pants in my wardrobe
mixed with your embellished velvet
with our turquoise concho bracelet.
Imperfect art here I am.
Imperfect creator of tribute,
imperfect editor of stricter,
vessel of preparation and
spontaneity
I am.
Passionate
To be here with you and take this higher,
this combination of our artistry, Mom!
I own the rights
to my family.
I am take me to another place.
I hope you will learn with me,
dear reader, audience member!
Love me flawed
Read me flawed
as I love myself
as I explore our relationships further.
I am curator of print
and spoken word.
What brings you pleasure, Jennifer?
The seeds of action, planting,
seeing the flowers grow,
my confidence,
my honesty.
Decisions of what to present,
I let go of what's not included today.
satisfied-correct in my desire
acceptance
of every minute every word
a gift.
My mom used to call me Hobo Harmon all the time! I believe she started calling me by this unique nickname back in 2004 after I called her one rainy night walking home from the Path train to my apartment in Jersey City. I had a small hole in my boots and the rain water was trickling inside making my lovely warm socks a soggy mess. She said, "Oh, Hobo! We must get you new boots!" And of course, she sent me the perfect pair of fashionable shoes the following week. She often picked out perfect shoes #fashionistas - As a result of this popular nickname by my mom, my husband calls me Hobo more than he calls me Jen! During April I wrote poems under hoboharmon at A Daily Dose of Spring Poems. Then I started another poetry blog called Hobo's Poems on Blogger. Woohoo!
WHO ARE YOU?
I am Jennifer Dawn Harmon Gersbeck.
On April 1, I turned 40.
I am Desert Daughter of Jack Eugene and Patricia Anne.
I am love.
I am forgiveness.
I am darkness.
I am light.
I am strength.
I am home.
I am living.
I am sighted guide. I am being guided.
I am blessings. I am gratitude in climbing.
I am cactus covered with bright magenta flowers.
Strong spine
Robust, small clusters of up to 20 stems
Adaption in rainfall.
WHERE ARE YOU FROM?
Alamogordo, New Mexico
Otero County
I am partly hidden in the prairies
in The Tularosa Basin between the Sacramento mountains and Capitan.
Sunsets above White Sands gypsum dunes.
I am from two teachers, my guides,
English and Braille, Pottery and Painting,
Poetry and Storytelling.
I am from changes
I am from Sierra Elementary soap opera stories sidekick to Kelli
I am from ballet and marching band state champs.
I am from NMSU journalism
I am from Divorce
I am from my first apartment living alone in Rio Communities
Orange countertops, linoleum kitchen floors
I am from Valencia County News-Bulletin
Reporter in Belen and Los Lunas
School board, city council, concert coverage
I am from leaving my homestate to move to NYC without a job to
Sleep on David Belcher’s red futon
I am from Oshman’s Sporting Goods,
Source Media, Samuel Christensen Law Firm,
Devachan Salon.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
I am climbing the spiral stairs
To new opportunities
Travel Poet
My parents will meet me
My husband beside me
Myself, Listen
Never the same
A one woman show
Speeches, service to teenagers
And women everywhere
Sharing more of myself than ever before
Sometimes an almost hour commute home on the train feels like
Forever
The crowd around me swaying as we rattle along
through the tunnel to
nowhere
and somewhere
Queens Plaza finally
36th Avenue is next
Barely hold on to the handle of the double doors
I don’t care if I fall
because I’d like to sleep, take a nap
Their hands grip poles
Their coats hold keys
Oh, I’ve been on this goddamn device
All day
Oh, I remember the other trains, the other rides
Today I say thank you as I comb through the people and disembark
“Unwrap The Secrets of Mummies” the poster promotes at my stop
All mine are out
There
The sun is setting in Astoria
Climb stairs to street
Billboard on Northern Blvd. tells me
Fear Less
Fearless
Clouds, scarves
I pass a bundled smoker
Almost home
Opportunity in the window
Heartbeat rising
Reflection of myself
Relief from what I carried and left on the sidewalk
Stretching after spin
It’s clearer to me what needs to be kept
What I will always have
What to let go
What to adorn and use and share
I climb the mountain
Third gear
Oh, Mom, I see us on the dance floor
We are getting down
The tempo increases
Turquoise swirled with purple beads
Caught up in enthusiasm
The sound of the rain
In my aloneness
My fierceness
My independence
The increase in the drops falling
Fury
Intensity
My own rupture
I’m under the umbrella
Red with stripes neon yellow and aqua
I’m stuck in
The downpour
In my freeness
Yearning
Craving it
In it
I choose this spot
Sit here in the beauty
Wetness
Discomfort
I don’t want to leave
I can build up my strengths
Fuck smiling
I might go a whole day without doing
Because why not?
Because why not rest?
Release
Shoulders
Effort
Not raising of the lips
No sir, everything is not ok
It is that bad
It’s not
But who the fuck cares?
I wrote this for my friend Nathan last November for his 40th birthday
In Honor of His Birth, We Celebrate
Yes, we did imagine growing older,
but we could not predict the earth, this place.
Circle of friends, realize truth in his face.
We traveled through years to rest on this road’s shoulder
Glancing at old photos of Nathan in the faded folder,
A special love to support and honor thee,
man of gumption, music, peace and unity.
The truth is we know of no one bolder.
In honor of his birth, we celebrate
his gift to uplift the tired and the weak
because sometimes it feels much to bleak
to continue on but we know we must
we make art, we make calls, we fight or we bust
down the wall, we dance and sing as one
family we are through sun and storms, we won’t come undone.
His health is deteriorating. He's not in the hospital.
I love him. I'm not in control of a damn thing.
I'm hopeful his condition will improve. I'm living in the moment.
I know pain. I'm familiar with loss.
Jokes about celebrity deaths and being done with 2016 annoy me.
A new year doesn't stop endings.
He has no appetite. He can barely walk.
I will rent a car. I can drive Joan's.
I am going to be with him.
He sounds the same. He sounds like a stranger.
I rally for love. I ask rage to come out.
I acknowledge tight muscles. I breathe through panic and tension.
I feel relief.
It's deep down inside me from long ago
not channeled at him or little me or God
I buried it in the desert
and covered it with flowered cactus
smiling, cutting my finger on the edges of the sharp needles
-----Original Message-----
From: Jennifer Harmon
Sent: Saturday, December 29, 2012 9:54 AM
To: Jack Harmon
Subject: Hello!
Hi Dad,
I am still lying in bed resting, but I took some time to write in my journal. I was remembering with fondness our holiday traditions in Alamo as a family.
Remember how we went to the candlelight service at Grace Methodist? Mom would often wear her silver fox fur coat. We would go drive around Alamo, looking at the colorful Christmas lights. Then we would head over to Tularosa to take in the glorious sight of the luminarias. I loved describing everything to mom! Then we would get home and have our delicious dinner at the lovely decorated table by our sparkling Christmas tree. Cornish hens, twice baked potatoes, prime rib, scalloped potatoes and ham....lots of memories of various meals,mmmm! Christmas Eve was always a magical night. Then Christmas Day was so fun yet relaxing. We had the fire going and had coffee while we opened presents. You made breakfast:)
I have so many memories of mom from everyday experiences to special holidays. I think it was 2002 we took a plane to go visit Aunt Kathy and Steven and Laura in Mahwah. Then we spent Christmas and New Years there in 2004 after I moved to NYC.
I think I will wear mom's fur coat on NYE. Chris' brother Eric is having a party at his place in Brooklyn. We went there for Christmas. It felt good to be there although I missed mom so much. She always picked out the best gifts for everyone! I made her broccoli casserole and stuffed mushrooms with Chris' help.
I love you mucho mucho! Maybe we can talk on the phone or do Skype this weekend.
Jenn
P.S: Did you get yourself an iPad yet? :)
Jack Harmon <jeh09@Machlink.com>Sun 12/30/2012, 8:41 PM
Hi Jenn,
I fully recall all those things you mentioned and I will never forget any of
them. I even had a dream about your mother a couple nights ago. She was
walking in a group of people across a grassy area and looked so lovely and
magnificent. I even started constructing a poem in my sleep about what I
was seeing but something told me to wake up first and when I did, I lost my
thoughts. I still might try to recall my observations and see what comes
up.
We can sure talk just about any time in the days to come. Just let me know
when and we can do skype or phone.
I am spending the weekend watching football.
Have a wonderful New Years.
Love you,
Dad
Disembark the 1 at 72nd
2 to Times Square
step off, turn to the right for the N.
I get into a rhythm with my grief.
I get in a rhythm with Not My President posts.
No, this can't be true, these headlines
I bleed what is happening to me,
to our country.
I have to eat dinner.
I will take a bath in my blessings and
get dressed in gratitude
Standing on the R with my coffee.
How can you chit chat,
strangers?
You bought three sweaters for work
and aren't second-guessing yourself.
"They weren't that expensive.
I have so many fur coats."
you you you
me me me
At work,
escape into the bathroom,
try and breathe.
I discovered peace and forgiveness with my father when I wasn’t looking.
I see pictures of him walking me down the aisle.
He said he would crawl on his hands and knees if he had to
to bring me to you.
When I turned 30, he met Chris for the first time.
As he hugged me in the back of an NYC taxicab,
my dad said I was "in good hands" with Chris.
When we visited Iowa, they bonded more over cold Stella beer
& salt & vinegar potato chips watching sci-fi movies and Walker Texas Ranger.
He loved the song Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega.
I remember finding the cassette tape in our truck when I was 12.
As a little girl, he served me milk with my dinner.
He tickled my feet - not to make me laugh
but to help me drift off to sleep
He made me toasted English muffins with grape jelly and butter.
He ironed my jeans, silk tops on low heat, and nineties baby doll dresses.
He even colored my hair the kitchen sink, Salon Jack, at our home on Desert Eve Drive.
He always had a mustache. Oh, the sideburns!
Every morning he said, "Jen, time for school! Time to get up!"
He drove me and Jessica to marching band practice and picked us up.
Listening to Prince, Nirvana, and Boyz II Men, we danced beside him
the whole way home.
He taught me how to cast.
We went finishing together for silver bass at Elephant Butte.
He fixed his famous ground beef and refried bean tacos, and
on weekends - silver dollar pancakes for me
eggs and potatoes with salsa for my mom,
chile rellenos made with roasted hatch green peppers.
He helped me pass algebra and geometry and research
my paper on the Titanic.
He taught me how to drive stick shift in the abandoned track near my Sierra Elementary.
The night of the pajama jam dance in high school, before I had my license,
he let me drive us home. I spotted some cute guys as we cruised down White Sands Blvd.
He sunk down in the passenger seat so I could be cool and wave to them.
He accompanied me across country in my Geo Storm to my college internship in Craig, Co.
He moved my furniture into different apartments and houses in Las Cruces and Belen.
He told tales driving around Muscatine,
parked near the Mississippi River, and sitting on the blue velour couch.
Stories about his parents, his cat Maddie, coaching gymnastics and his knee injury.
He is helping me keep going and I know I will learn more from him.
My Dad with me on my 30th birthday in NYC!
My Wedding Day! June 28, 2014
He knows I'm here. Jennifer and Debbie, a daughter from two different lives on each side. Thank you for years of truth, for our coffee and conversations, for hugs in Muscatine and telling me about your first wife, hitchhiking to college classes, the years you spent at the Vinton School, the time away from your family as a little boy and coming back to them.
It's hard to breathe. It's hard to know what to do next. It's hard to know which relative or friend to call or text.
The rain. I can't move in the blankness of my yellow quilt surrounded by blue walls. There is no waiting or later or maybe when I'm good enough. I have to move, to go out the door, to a specific place, to do a specific thing.
Discarded trees
plastic
body bags
wrapped in memories
sidewalk piled
of the lives we led
this year
routine
demolish
I sense an interruption or some type of riot.
Where are you now?
I could sleep and never get up,
take a nap under a cherry blossom tree
here, the Brooklyn Botanical Garden.
Mother's Day, 2012.
The last time you visited me in NYC.
There are certain things I still can't throw away.
Your lavender bath and body lotion,
the Joan Rivers leopard print jacket,
your wallet with your photo ID and
Applebee's lunch card for after church.
I find you when I put on my turquoise bangle bracelet.
I find you when I sip my coffee in Queens.
I find you when I close my eyes, quiet hugs in Toms River.
Lows happened at night.
I open my mouth to tell friends via phone
Tape my lips shut and make it go away.
This is worse than after the divorce.
My mood is like your blood sugars
able to fall, plummet, based on a single action
one tiny second.
I tell myself
You witnessed my marriage.
How does God decide what to give each of us?
The hugs, the clothes,
the dinners, the stories,
your hand holding mine.
Let me rest now and wake to find
solitary happiness.
I took action on something that is important to me. It didn't take long - probably about an hour.
Completing the task is having a huge impact on me. I feel lighter. I am excited. I didn't overthink it. I clicked send. I didn't work on "some" of it and tell myself I'd finish it tomorrow. I didn't try to fit too much into one space. I met a personal deadline.
Waiting for a cab on Bleecker, outside LPR, flash flood warning. You sit on a park bench under an awning, eating a chocolate covered ice cream on a stick. Holding the umbrella, you offer me a seat, escape from the rain. We talk for 40 minutes about losing our mothers.
WHAT I FOUND
The note on the sidwalk
someone long ago
or perhaps last week
etched in the cement,
"I love myself."
I walked over it,
paused
and went back to it.
On second look,
I see,
"Do you?"
EPHIPHANY
"This is where I leave you"
in blue ink
yellow post-it note on the kitchen counter.
Last night I saw these words
handwritten by me, from inside me.
When did I jot this down?
Spotting this message on my last day of
being Jennifer at 38,
I had the epiphany that it is
time
to fully
be.
I peel the cover off my clementine at lunch.
I peel back the fantasy to embrace the reality.
I taste the sweet juice of possibilities.
Remember, the turquoise stone
she placed in my hand with the word "freedom"
sharped over the smooth surface?
Spirituality
My soul awakens in Woodstock.
Outside my bedroom, through the glass door,
tall trees whisper to me,
"Step towards the discomfort. Let go of the outcome."
Rolling over, I dream of places I am trying to reach.
Give back to life itself.
I will go deeper.
I will awaken authenticity
in every action I take.
Clouds and sunshine
like uncertainty and discomfort
exist at the same time on this Friday morning.
Inspiration comes from silence.
My First Room
White dresser,
matching mirror,
vacuumed peach carpet.
Cedar trunk,
Grandma Ullmann's quilts
folded neatly on top.
Cabbage Patch Kids decorate
water bed,
uncluttered space.
Hanging from the ceiling,
the ballerina doll
perched on the swing.
Canopy over bed,
peach curtains,
posters of kittens,
the table beside the bookshelf
set for tea with mom.
We read Cinderella and Alice In Wonderland.
I will be a Dancer or Actress or Nurse.
My room is at the end of the hall.
All of my possessions have a home,
a place to be put away.
There are daily chores.
Clean, organized,
truth,
a sanctuary.
In Charlotte Sometimes,
a teenage girl travels back in time,
trades places with Clare, who
shares the same bed,
a safe place to sleep.
Purpose
Follow your dharma,
discern your true nature.
Bring everything you have to it.
The sky, the earth,
a description of yourself.
Embrace the seasons.
See what shows up
in the uncertainty.
Despite challenges,
take the hints.
Get it done.
US
Finished,
almost with Fuscia
Number 54,
the lipstick we shared from Sephora.
The white case shows no brand or maker.
I just know this one is your favorite.
You carried this case
in your coat pocket
beside your keys with the high heel keychain
and in your purse, beside your checkbook.
I continue using it,
tapping the remaining sassy color
on my lips until the last dab is gone.
Talk with it on,
smile with it on,
Yours, Mine.
Wholeness
Rain drops glisten on closed petals
newly planted red tulips in
Washington Square Park.
Looking down at the soft soil
I explore ways to reintegrate
fractured parts of myself back
into wholeness.
"You are already that which you long to be."
I whisper this mantra while stepping and sliding in puddles
in my paisley galoshes.
On Macdougal Street,
I sit at Cafe Reggio, sipping my latte with almond milk.
Red is love.
"Love should make you a better, stronger,
confident, self-assured woman.
Let it do that, which is the greatest aspect of
living in the moment," my mom tells me.
I hear her. I see her in that lime green Bob Mackie trench.
"I measure all time in my life by your presence in it.
There is a 'before Jennifer' and an 'after Jennifer's birth.'
Your birth and the years following are marked by what
we did together: school, vacations, shopping expeditions and
never-ending conversations."
"Time and place are united by the books you read to me.
You have a gorgeous skill involving oral readings whether
it is your work, my work or sharing words aloud with others.
The news, poetry, books, stories, articles. Many individuals
cannot do what you can do. Take some time to ponder
that for your future."
I ponder time.
"Don't you agree that time and place work together in our lives?
I love it. Like dance partners, they waltz on a polished stage
and our steps move forward into a glorious tomorrow!
Oh, I love you, Hobo Harmon! Have I mentioned lately
how proud of you I am? Take my loving thoughts
and hopes everywhere!"