Judith Partin-Nielsen

Yellow Mama Archives

Judith Partin-Nielsen

He Came Up All Flirty

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

He came up all flirty, said:

Hey, I was going to call you—

thought maybe we could

talk over old times

thought maybe you had forgotten

what a rude, fucking asshole I was

thought maybe I could—

charm you, chat you all up

seduce you, maybe buy

some nice wine with dinner

tell you old, sad stories and

new ones too about how

women divorced me, cursed me

spit in my face, set my

house on fire, spent all my money

and just couldn’t get enough of me.

thought maybe we could

talk on the phone, send some

sexy emails, tell some deep dark

secrets or smoke something

maybe listen to Miles or Eric,

Coldplay, North Mississippi All-Stars

or anything at all just don’t

torture me with “twang”

thought maybe we could be

like old times or new times

or anytime at all, like

I could be making time

with you Babe or I

could call you later or

you could call me, but

hey, not that stuff you

called me before—which was

mostly true, but why women

like to focus on that shit I

don’t know

thought maybe we could just

get over the past, our past

make a new past which

isn’t really over anyway

___, but, yeah okay

I guess we’re done

70,000 birds

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

70,000 birds intentionally killed

graceful geese, wrens, sparrows,

sparrows in their fluttering beauty

so that we unholy humans

can fly on fire-breathing

dragon wings in

their pristine shies

our only worries,

lost luggage

Migrations #1

In Memoriam

José Angel Alfano Solana

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

We crossed over the border

I won’t say how

and what can I say of

freezing desert nights

black sky blazing stars

then searing, burning sun

tearing into flesh

relentless, relentless

the walking, and fear

then- - - - - - -running, running

as sand clouds appear

against the far sky

running, running- - -and then

I lost you and Juan and

the girl running, running

and falling face down

breathing sand and

dreaming, dreaming of naranjas and

water, rain falling and

phantoms unfurling like giant

sails across the desert floor

and the pounding, pounding of

ocean waves in my ears

and then - - - - -the face, the face

of El Senõr

Jack

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

He stole my poem,

then tried to seduce me

Other than that,

he was a pretty good guy.

singles ad

Westword Magazine

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

professional musician

seeks woman to

spend all my money

wreck my truck

and brake my heart

dude, you’ve found her

Something Has Happened

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

sitting in that space

between the worlds

in a morning pool

of winter sunlight

favorite teacup

in hand, the white

one with delicate pink

and yellow flowers in

a tangle of pale green

vines — slowly, slowly

drinking, then breathing,

in the warmth of

waiting, waiting until

“something has happened”

becomes a soft voice saying,

“your mother is dead”

Each Day

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

each day a poem

breeze ruffling my hair

a glimpse of mountains

behind floating cloud silhouettes

afternoon sun through window

falling cross the empty pages

waiting on my desk

Ghost Dance

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

tall, leafless aspen

cast evening shadows

across the frozen lake

sudden gust of wind

and ghosts are dancing

over the water

The Earth Keeps Sabbath

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

The earth keeps Sabbath

with its endings and coming of light

those slips and plumes of cloud, rain-

moons and sun

the coming and falling away of breath

frozen ground crocuses awaiting bloom

the rattling of winds, bone,

dried grasses and reeds

the murmur of prayers melding

into rock

ashes of our ancestors making holy

the very air we breathe

obituary

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

dumb mouse

quick cat

Rock Whisperings

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

fitting my palm against

the face of the rock

listening deeply to feel

its pulse, listening to

the rhythm of breaths,

whispers, wisps of winds,

scents, of meadow and pine

listening to the voices of

sandstone and granite speaking

"All my ancestors are here

and I will remain with them"

Weeding My Garden

Longing

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

to enter

that fortress of stone

to be seen

and known and needed

for even those things

that are lacking. To

climb its towers of beauty

and open its ornate doors

that lead deeper and deeper

into the paths of belonging.

he paid for

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

he paid for

my wedding bouquet

with a hot check

and that was just the beginning

Winter Woman

By Judith Partin-Nielsen

skin of golden ash

mystery of face

abstracted in beauty

loosened chignon of promise

graceful ellipses of waist, widening to

hips opening like

the mouth of a river

giving birth to the world

Following a trail of words, mountains, spirit and tears, this writer, mother, wife and eventually psychoanalyst left Texas for Colorado in 1985. The land of the Arapahoe welcomed and called Judith by name. The love of poetry, poet and high mountain valleys has warmed her heart and made her home. Freud said, “Everywhere I go, the poet has been there before me.”

May we keep following those footsteps on our paths thru the worlds. This contributor has taught contemplative psychotherapy at Naropa University, practices psychoanalysis, and writes poetry.

The Hope of It

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

Where is the beauty, the Hope

in the horror of it, you ask.

Underneath a hard, bitter

casement of seed is there

an invisible bloom, a bud

not yet conceived—

a fragrance only in

the mind’s eye.

Are we the Hope of it?

Endings #2

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

folded flag from the casket

pressed against my heart

even now feeling your arms

tightly around me

It’s on My List

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

it’s on my list

of things to do that

I actually do

do because it will just

live again on

another action item agenda

or another text or report

that needs attention but

no information is

available to accomplish it,

i.e., the system is currently

unavailable to our great sorrow

or all the representatives are

busy helping other customers

who are essentially much more

needy and deserving of

undivided attention than you

so why don’t you invent

an app to help with that

and stop bothering us with

your repeated requests

with inane demands for our

time because you are

not paying us to be helpful

so just keep paying the

money and shut the fuck up.

Poetry Everywhere

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

for Courtney Love

“I wrote poetry everywhere

on the walls, on his shirt

I wrote poetry everywhere”

I couldn’t stop

at night on the sheets in our bed

in my sleep in my dreams

I wrote poetry everywhere

on my face the war paint

(stirring up all kinds of trouble)

I wrote poetry on the tablecloth

in Jax’s Fish House

a haiku surrounded by wine

glasses, white napkins, red brick

walls, green fish—tiny dots of

blue light hanging from the

ceiling—Nick Forrester eating sushi

at the next table

I wrote poetry everywhere

I wrote poetry in books

that didn’t belong to me, past due,

checked in, checked out,

on posters at the coffee

house, poetry notes on golden

peeling bathroom mirrors

surprise tanka on the

toilet seat

I wrote poetry everywhere

I wrote poetry on the stairs

seven steps to the landing

turn left. Six more to your room.

Listening to the blues, Muddy Waters

wailing, sitting on the floor

eating dates, drinking white wine.

I wrote poetry everywhere.

You made a pass, I didn’t notice

better to keep writing poetry

everywhere

Flat on my face, flat on my

ass, flat on my back

just keep writing

poetry everywhere

Sunset Bridge

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

Standing beneath the city bridge

in a storm’s sudden deluge

Above— black clouds and lightning strikes

jigsaw the sky a vicious yellow

heavy trucks rumble by in pounding

rain and hail, drenched runner slams

the pavement, grits his teeth, keeps going

Below— the magic of small birds fluttering by

sheltering under the arches,

returning to hidden mud nests

on concrete walls and girders—

a flock of graceful geese

float by on the now-swift current,

then finally homing into the green

grasses at river’s edge

Lovers holding hands watching

the black sky, waiting

The Hope of It

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

Where is the beauty, the Hope

in the horror of it, you ask.

Underneath a hard, bitter

casement of seed is there

an invisible bloom, a bud

not yet conceived —

a fragrance only in

the mind’s eye.

Are we the Hope of it?

All the Way Home

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

He walked a mile

through the snowstorm

just to hold my hand

all the way home

like a poem written

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

like a poem written

in a book of sand

the fragile beauty of

our lives

So There

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

Disgruntled cat

offended by scolding

ambushes me later

Sugar Wolf

by Judith Partin-Nielsen

“Sugar Wolf loves u”

homeless poet leaves

his calling card —

back side of the postal box

Following a trail of words, mountains, spirit and tears, this writer, mother, wife, and eventually psychoanalyst left Texas for Colorado in 1985. The land of the Arapahoe welcomed Judith Partin-Nielsen and called her by name. The love of poetry, poet and high mountain valleys has warmed her heart and made her home. Freud said, “Everywhere I go, the poet has been there before me.” May we keep following those footsteps on our paths through the worlds. This contributor has taught contemplative psychotherapy at Naropa University, practices psychoanalysis, and writes poetry.

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