I first found out about the power of retrograde Mercury in 2021. Last night to celebrate the ending of the most recent Mercury retrograde, I went to the beach. It was the new moon, so the stars were bright. I laid on my back in the sand and looked up at the sky and after about half an hour, just as I was preparing to leave, I realized I could see the Milky Way, that elusive cloud of hundreds of billions of stars that is so seldom visible in the sky that I’ve never actually seen/noticed it before.
Part of me wanted to stay all night looking at that misty cloud, but at least a portion of this poem is somewhat true. And so I left. I did manage to (surprisingly) capture some of what I saw in a few pictures, though. And today I wrote a poem to go with one of them to share here.
Retrograde Mercury
By Michelle Garren-Flye
My first time seeing the Milky Way, Mercury was in retrograde.
Everything went wrong, and I couldn’t linger long—
the cat was sick, the car failed to start, the restaurant I picked
had a two-hour wait, so I gave up, surrendering to my fate.
As the sunset faded, the stars above me played,
and I only spared them a glance, in no mood for a dalliance.
Yet later when my belly was filled,
I thought about the way they spilled
through the sky…
down into the sea…
and wished
(oh wished)
that sight had held me
in place for a bit…
In the face of their beauty…
why couldn’t I just sit?
Milky Way during Mercury Retrograde by Michelle Garren-Flye
I used to panic whenever I’d draw the Death card from a Tarot deck. How could that possibly be a good thing? Even if it’s just the end of something, if it’s the end of something good, it’s gonna suck.
That’s why we as humans tend to celebrate beginnings. Birthdays, wedding anniversaries, the New Year. But we don’t really acknowledge that with every new beginning, something ended. The carefree life of a non-parent, the single life, the old year.
Today I pay respect to an ending in my life by celebrating what it was and what it brought me. It’s bittersweet, but I know that this is a new beginning, too. I’m ready for what’s ahead.
Let’s go.
Loop
By Michelle Garren-Flye
You left me once in the middle of a rainstorm,
I was tying my shoe, concentrating on each loop, and you
took the umbrella and wandered away
because something else caught your eye.
I finished my task
but I was soaked to the skin
and even though you gave me my own umbrella,
I never really forgave you for taking ours.
I doubt I ever will.
I’ll bring it up at family gatherings
and every anniversary
as if you could go back and change it,
hold the umbrella steady above me.
Turn back the clock
because without that,
the end will never change.
Almost every night I have a fortune cookie with a cup of tea. It’s become my ritual. They are sometimes funny, sometimes uplifting, sometimes philosophical, sometimes almost a little spooky in the way they apply to my life.
I’ve been doing this for a couple of years now. I try never to throw them away. It seems sacrilegious. I do lose them sometimes, but I try to take a picture if it’s something I want to remember.
Here are a few I memorialized:
This one came along when I was floundering, trying to convince myself I could still write:
And then there was the time my fortune seemed to be hitting on me:
And finally, there was this one. It struck enough of a chord to inspire a poem. I thought it was a riddle, but when I did some research, I found it’s more of a philosophical conundrum. Fun stuff.
I have no idea what wisdom you can actually find in fortune cookies. Though Chinese restaurants adopted the cookie to appease Americans who wanted something sweet to finish off their meal with, no one actually believes they’re Chinese. In fact, though I did find some evidence in a quick Google search that fortune cookies originated in Japan, I’m pretty sure my fortune cookies are very American. And yet, I’ve found that the Universe can speak in many different languages, and English is definitely one of them.
WHAT HIDES IN AN EMPTY BOX?
We puzzled over the fortune cookie
long after dinner was done
and the dishes taken away;
the check was paid
and you and I were on the way home.
Darkness, you said, that’s what hides there
and I figured you were right
because if you open the box
and let the light in,
the darkness can’t be seen.
But later still, lying awake
with darkness pressing on my face
smothering me
like your apologies
I wondered if we had been wrong.
Maybe the darkness didn’t hide
when you opened the empty box.
Maybe when the light chased it out
it roared and screamed
and lashed about.
Maybe what hid there in its place
was my heart.
Yep. I had my live this morning at 11 a.m. I had a couple of people on it. I read a few poems. I mostly embarrassed myself. And to make it all better, I have preserved said live as a reel on Instagram. You can view it here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CvC2kWGuEQY/
Poetry can be difficult to sell. I understand that. It took me years to realize I not only love reading it, I love writing it. And when I buy a book of poetry, it’s most likely going to be a book of classics. Old favorites like Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson. Although there are still some living poets who can tempt me to read their work.
These are the poets who are famous in their own lifetime. I’ve read their work, and it’s terribly good, enough to make me feel inadequate in a truly awful way I don’t feel when I read my old favorites. I think that’s because my old favorites are legends and my new favorites will be legends. Seeing that happen is like witnessing something being born. Messy. Beautiful. Frightening.
I read my poetry and I know I’m not there. Maybe someday though. Until then, it is what it is.
You’re wearing the white dress you could never afford until you thought you were too old, with lacy sleeves and frills and pink ribbons.
Yesterday I saw a sign that said “Live like someone left the gate open.” It summoned to mind a dog running like crazy, sniffing everything he’d never been allowed to sniff, peeing freely wherever he wanted. Yeah, it’d be nice to live life that way.
Today, I saw a meme of a sign that read “Whatever you do today, do it with the confidence of a 4 year old in a batman t-shirt.” And I thought, yes. That’s what I need to do.
I’m a writer.
That does not mean I’m famous.
The publishing world is not designed for people like me. I know this. I am nothing but a middle-class white woman who hasn’t had any real hardship in her life. There’s nothing remarkable about me to make me stand out from the crowd.
I am everywoman.
I can string words together, sometimes even brilliantly. I know the basic rules of grammar (don’t ask me about who/whom though) so I can edit my own work and there won’t be any egregious errors. I also have a pretty decent vocabulary—hence egregious.
I’m a good writer, but I’m still everywoman.
I remember how excited I was when my first book was published. It was a good little romance. I still think it is. I’ve gone back and re-read it without flinching. Much. It was traditionally published by an ebook publisher. In fact, it came out in July 2010. It’s been out for thirteen years.
I’m still not famous.
Since 2010, I’ve had two more traditionally published ebooks (both romance). But I have self-published ten romances, a romantic fantasy trilogy, two children’s books, a young adult book, a comic book, and most recently, seven books of poetry.
Somebody left the gate open.
So here I am, a self-published, relatively unknown writer, frolicking along on the roadside where I’m not supposed to be, publishing books like I’m a 4-year-old who believes fiercely that I can become a superhero—or at least pee anywhere I want to. To make it even better, I now own a bookstore and I try my best to encourage people to try other writers than those embraced by the publishing world.
Because there are more stars out there than those you see at first glance. Some of us just aren’t given the opportunity to shine.
Are you sure you wish to hear my tale? It’s really only about me.
From “Han River” by Michelle Garren-Flye
Just a dandelion, really. Photo by Michelle Garren-Flye. Copyright 2023
I won’t lie. Instagram Lives are not my thing. It’s disquieting thinking strangers could be listening to me. It’s even more nerve-wracking thinking one of my friends could be on there. In fact, if I’m looking at the screen, I’ll see who’s watching.
It’s very different from recording myself reading poetry and putting it up. That live feedback is sort of shocking.
Why is it different from a live audience? I mean, I’m terrified of those, too, but somehow the online lives are worse. I guess it’s the faceless aspect of it. I have no idea if you’re laughing or crying or bored or even sleeping. Whatever’s going on on the other end of the Instagram line is a mystery to me.
All I can do is present the poetry I wrote as best I can and hope you like it.
At 11 a.m. Sunday.
Today I’m drawing yellow. Is it love or just spring?
From “Today I’m Drawing Yellow” by Michelle Garren-Flye
Forget my complicated relationship with Amazon for a bit. Right now, as we speak, my new book of love poetry, Where the Sidewalk Begins, is totally free for your Kindle. It’ll be that way until Sunday, and on Sunday at 11 a.m. I’m going to go live on Instagram and read parts of my book.
Which means if you want to read the book and request a poem to be read, you can do it.
Or you can read the book and ask me questions about it.
So you got some homework to do, and actually, so do I. Because I have a mind like a steel…tablespoon. It fills up quickly and stuff sloshes out. So the poetry I wrote and carefully selected and formatted and made into a book might have been forgotten by now, lol. And definitely any inspiration behind it. l
Tomorrow I’ll talk a little about why I’m a bit scared of the idea of going live. And why I’m going to do it anyway.
Dare I take that first step, feel heel strike hard stone, face the rest of my life…alone?
From “Where the Sidewalk Begins” by Michelle Garren-Flye
Last year one of the local bars held a singles meet-and-greet where people were given their choices of cups. Red for in a committed relationship, green for available and yellow for “It’s complicated.”
I was interviewed for a local television news story last week. If you’d like to watch it, you can here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5Rr4vjwxjk&t=15s. The reporter was young, enthusiastic and very, very capable. I admired her. She asked me a lot of insightful questions about bookselling. One of those questions was something like how did I feel about Amazon.
I’m not sure I answered her question very well, because, to be honest, my relationship with Amazon requires a yellow cup.
It’s complicated.
As a bookseller, do I resent Amazon? Not really, honestly. Amazon fulfills an entirely different purpose from what I do. I order supplies for my store from Amazon because I can find good deals, compare products easily and, quite honestly, it makes my life easier. At the end of the year, for instance, when I need to find receipts, it’s much easier if everything is on Amazon instead of a few here and a few there.
Does Amazon affect my business? Again, that’s complicated. I mean, yeah, probably. I don’t know what it was like being a bookseller before Amazon, though. And I don’t sell new books, at least not new bestsellers. I sell used books and local authors. And no, Nicholas Sparks isn’t one of “my” authors lol. My authors sell their books here at the store on consignment, which means if the books sell, they get a check.
Now, that brings me to a more interesting question. As a local author who publishes her books and sells them on Amazon’s self-publishing platform KDP, how do I feel about Amazon?
If I cared enough to dig into my true feelings about it, I’d probably resent them more. Their algorithms often hide independent authors like myself. The pitiful amount of royalty I receive from each sale on Amazon takes a while to add up to a measurable sum. I have tried their “marketing”, but it amounts to giving away books or paying more for each purchase due to empty “clicks” than I get from the sale.
Still, Amazon is exceedingly fair in their pricing for author copies and their system is incredibly easy to use. I currently have twenty-six personal titles on my KDP Bookshelf, and I have also used KDP to publish all the literary magazines for my store. When I am asked for advice on how to self-publish, I send authors to Amazon without a single qualm.
I got a little sidetracked with this post. I started out to tell you Where the Sidewalk Begins, my book of love poems, is now available on Amazon in Kindle, paperback and hardcover. But I got distracted thinking about my feelings. Anyway, starting tomorrow and running through Sunday, Where the Sidewalk Begins is FREE on Kindle. And on Sunday at 11 a.m., I’m going to do another live poetry reading from the book.
I dreamed I fell in love with none other than the moon…
J.K. Rowling said, “There’s always room for a story that can transport people to another place.”
But is there? J.K. Rowling herself has become an icon of what I think of as “Cancelhood” by expressing an opinion that was not popular among…who? Twitterers? Gen Z? I don’t even know. But they “canceled” her so they have as much power as the men in black, the alternative state, the dark government.
The Cancelers.
I’m digressing a bit. I’m worried about storytelling. I’m worried we are no longer open to new ideas. Are there any new ideas?
It’s not a totally new thing that we are more comfortable with the stories we know. Look at how old Cinderella is. Is there anyone who doesn’t know that story in one iteration or another? We may all think of the Disney version, or the more educated may even know Charles Perrault’s version, but the story goes back much further in Greece and Asia.
Women have been losing shoes for freaking forever, man.
And bored royal men have been fetching them for us.
I’d never thought of Cinderella as a women’s empowerment tale until just now.
But again, I digress. I saw a news report today about the spectacular failure of Pixar’s latest movie (probably only spectacular failure because it was Pixar and Pixar is supposed to not fail). The report went on to examine the current hits, all of which are sequels, remakes and adaptations featuring familiar characters.
I’ve been watching a lot of Korean television recently. “K-dramas” as we Americans call them, aren’t necessarily new stories (they’re mostly soapy love stories or about lawyers or doctors—very familiar territory), but they are told from a different point of view in a different setting, sometimes in very unique ways. (I’m looking at you, “Extraordinary Attorney Woo”!)
The art of storytelling is reaching its end because the epic slice of truth, wisdom, is dying out.
Walter Benjamin
I hope that’s not true. It’s definitely getting harder to tell new stories as the routes of communication are closing in on themselves. Disney owns Pixar and ABC, FOX owns CNN, let’s not even get started on the lack of publishing houses. It’s easier for the megacorporations to churn out more and more of the same stuff the public has consumed for years. But in doing so, they’re taking away the superpower of communication, stripping away mankind’s ability to see beyond what is to what could be.
As storytellers, maybe it’s up to us? Find a way to make stories that are new but introduced in a familiar way. Or a way to tell old stories in a very new way. Maybe we have to risk being canceled to break through walls now. Maybe we have to tell stories that aren’t comfortable to hear or read.
Maybe we need to lose a shoe and see who brings it back to us?
Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.
Sue Monk Kidd
My book of “love poems” will be available soon. Copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 