poems by Andrea Gibson

Poem of the Week, by Andrea Gibson

Posted on by alisonmcghee

When things are too much, build yourself an invisible wall of Andrea Gibson poems to keep yourself safe and keep your heart open. Remind yourself you’ll never be out of the woods, but there’s something lovely about the woods.

In the chemo room, I wear mittens made of ice so I don’t lose my fingernails. But I took a risk today to write this down, by Andrea Gibson, 1975-2025

Whenever I spend the day crying, 
my friends tell me I look high. Good grief,  

they finally understand me.  
Even when the arena is empty, I thank god  

for the shots I miss. If you ever catch me  
only thanking god for the shots I make,  

remind me I’m not thanking god. Remind me  
all my prayers were answered  

the moment I started praying  
for what I already have.  

Jenny says when people ask if she’s out of the woods,  
she tells them she’ll never be out of the woods,  

says there is something lovely about the woods.  
I know how to build a survival shelter  

from fallen tree branches, packed mud,  
and pulled moss. I could survive forever  

on death alone. Wasn’t it death that taught me  
to stop measuring my lifespan by length,

but by width? Do you know how many beautiful things  
can be seen in a single second? How you can blow up

a second like a balloon and fit infinity inside of it? 
I’m infinite, I know, but I still have a measly wrinkle

collection compared to my end goal. I would love  
to be a before picture, I think, as I look in the mirror

and mistake my head for the moon. My dark  
thoughts are almost always 238,856 miles away 

from me believing them. I love this life, 
I whisper into my doctor’s stethoscope

so she can hear my heart. My heart, an heirloom
I didn’t inherit until I thought I could die.

Why did I go so long believing I owed the world
my disappointment? Why did I want to take

the world by storm when I could have taken it
by sunshine, by rosewater, by the cactus flowers

on the side of the road where I broke down?
I’m not about to waste more time

spinning stories about how much time
I’m owed, but there is a man

who is usually here, who isn’t today.  
I don’t know if he’s still alive. I just know

his wife was made of so much hope  
she looked like a firework above his chair.

Will the afterlife be harder if I remember
the people I love, or forget them?

Either way, please let me remember.

Click here for more information about beloved poet and spoken word artist Andrea Gibson. Today’s poem was originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 30, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets. 

alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter

Poem of the Week, by Andrea Gibson

Posted on by alisonmcghee

Would you like to start the new year with an hour each morning of quiet writing in the company of others, without the pressure of sharing or feedback? Please join us January 6-11 for Write Together. 10-11 am Central Time, $100. I’d love to see you in the zoom room. Click here for all the details. 

Every December I write myself a letter addressed to a secret name I made up for myself a long time ago. There are a few of these names, each for a different purpose, like when I have to be brave, or when I have to do something I don’t want to do. These names are a kind of invisible refuge. Maybe you have one too.

Instead of Depression, by Andrea Gibson

try calling it hibernation.
Imagine the darkness is a cave
in which you will be nurtured
by doing absolutely nothing.
Hibernating animals don’t even dream.
It’s okay if you can’t imagine
Spring. Sleep through the alarm
of the world. Name your hopelessness
a quiet hollow, a place you go
to heal, a den you dug,
Sweetheart, instead
of a grave.

Click here for more information about the wondrous Andrea Gibson. Today’s poem is included in their collection You Better Be Lightning, published by Button Poetry in 2021. 

alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter

Poem of the Week, by Andrea Gibson

Posted on by alisonmcghee

Friends, if you read and liked my new novel Telephone of the Tree, I’d be so grateful if you gave it a good review on Amazon (online reviews are extremely important to a book’s success). You can find a review link here. Thank you!

People who text in to the crisis textline where I volunteer as a crisis counselor are often ashamed. So ashamed of things they’ve done or things they can’t stop doing. We listen and reassure them that they aren’t alone. That they’re showing strength, and a determination to live, by reaching out. Sometimes it can help to reframe things.

I hear how angry you are at yourself because you keep cutting when you feel desperate. Maybe another way to look at it is, “I’m suffering. And cutting brings relief. And I don’t want to cut anymore but I still deserve relief.” Taking the shame out of something is so freeing, and it sometimes leads to instant brainstorming about other, safer ways to find peace and relief.

Sometimes I turn the lens on myself, on things I did at times I was suffering, things I’m ashamed of. Maybe another way of looking at it is that you were trying to survive, Allie. And look, you did survive, and you don’t do that anymore. Can you try to be kinder to yourself?

Instead of Depression, by Andrea Gibson

try calling it hibernation.
Imagine the darkness is a cave
in which you will be nurtured
by doing absolutely nothing.
Hibernating animals don’t even dream.
It’s okay if you can’t imagine
Spring. Sleep through the alarm
of the world. Name your hopelessness
a quiet hollow, a place you go
to heal, a den you dug,
Sweetheart, instead
of a grave.

Click here for more information about the astonishing Andrea Gibson. Today’s poem is from From You Better Be Lightning, published in 2021 by Button Poetry.  

 alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter

Poem of the Week, by Andrea Gibson

Posted on by alisonmcghee

My new poems + reflections podcast, Words by Winter, can be found here.

A friend in college loved the word bittersweet for the way it made him feel, full of a kind of happiness mixed with sorrow. As if he were missing something while it was still happening.

The last time I saw this friend, years ago at a reunion, he used the word again, telling me that even though I was sitting next to him, part of him was already in the future, missing me, and how bittersweet it was.

That’s how I think of fall. There is nothing more beautiful to me than leaves turned flame, than air turned crisp, but it’s an aching kind of beauty.

Autumn, by Andrea Gibson

is the hardest season.
The leaves are all falling
and they’re falling
like they’re falling
in love with the ground.

For more information about Andrea Gibson, please check out their website: https://andreagibson.org/

My website: alisonmcghee.com