Will it? / It will

‘It will’ is an ekphrastic poem; ekphrastic poetry is poetry written based off a work of art. This piece was inspired based off the painting ‘Will it?’ by artist, Izaiah Miller. I love art because it can be interpreted differently by each viewer, just as poetry transforms and morphs based on the reader.

While it’s been a minute since work has been published on this site, I’m thrilled to be sharing this poem along with Izaiah’s complex and rich painting. The full painting is the first image below, with some of my favorite detail shots following the poem.

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“Will It?”, painting by Izaiah Miller.

It will

by Regan Smith

• • •

It will get better, 
these sound waves
bounce off my skull, 
never seeming to sink in, 
no matter how many times 
it’s been said to me. 

It will get better, 
Will it?

I feel torn in so
many directions;
nothing feels safe, 
and confusion seems 
to be the only constant. 

Every thought is an enigma, 
burdening, swarming, pulling; 
I don’t know which way to turn. 

Any attempt I make to
determine a direction 
towards growth, towards life, 
is thwarted; I’m on a leash
that extends only as far as my
thoughts allow me to be. 

But I have one foundational truth 
that flickers into my line of sight
from time to time–that the dark will always
try to choke out the light; for it knows that
once light enters in, the space transforms. 

So I lean into this direction–
taking a chance on the belief
that things will get better. 

It will get better, 
it will get better, 
it will get better. 

But I’m immediately met with: 

Will it?
Will it?
Will it?

Things start to become more
tumultuous, toxic thoughts cycle
faster, quicker, swelling and swarming
to a claustrophobic state. 

I see the pattern–
dark thoughts seeing a sliver of light, 
threatening their home, so they try 
and fight back with more chaos. 

But I take the weapon of intention, 
and kill these thoughts that made
up my past self–revolting against them, 
telling them that they have no home here. 

The chaos starts to settle, 
as the light begins to leak in, 
and any residual darkness dissipates. 

And standing in the rubble 
of my past mindsets, I look up, 
realizing I’ve lost everything that 
use to occupy my mind; and with a
clean canvas, I’m met with all that matters: 

An overwhelming peace, 
a moment of stillness, 

and power over my thoughts.

Prolonged Solitude

Jumping straight into the poetry, followed by a personal note.

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Prolonged Solitude

by Regan Smith

• • •

Prolonged Solitude is the only one
who has created such a space to where
my claustrophobic subconscious can 
finally take a deep breath, reach out and 
pen itself to paper. 

Prolonged Solitude has given me 
revelations and understandings of myself 
in ways I’ve never known before; 
she’s honest and kind and has 
kept me accountable. 

Her silent words have shown me 
myself in raw and uncomfortable ways; 
where I realize that I’ve been storing
shattered glass in my side–only 
now my eyes aren’t too busy to 
see it, my hands aren’t too busy to help, 
and where I can alleviate and heal. 

I’ve mistaken her before, long ago
when we weren’t well acquainted. 
I mistook her as an enemy–
and thought I responded with 
purposeful neglect, but when I numbed
her out, it was because I was screaming, 
trying to fill the void which would 
only leave me with a sore throat and 
a messy mind. I inaccurately 
attributed that character to her. 

For while she’s a quiet friend–
one who says few words–
those few words are pure wisdom, 
always bringing me back to myself, 
to still my self, to slow my thoughts; 
and for that, I thank you, 
Prolonged Solitude. 

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While I still work during the week remotely and spend a lot of time with Ricky, this pandemic has brought on a great deal of solitude, as I’m sure many others are experiencing. As an introvert, I adore being alone–I truly get so much energy out of it. But there’s a point to where I exceed my introversion tanks and start retreating inward. I go deep, deep into my thoughts and truly get lost. I start to lose touch with reality for I’ve ventured so deeply into this secret land that only I can see. I begin to take every thought with a thousand tons of gravity, chasing it back to origin, and can’t find my way back. It’s such an interesting concept to share but truly I become so distracted with my thoughts that I have a difficult time focusing on really anything. I start feeling anxious since I don’t feel grounded.

To counteract, I’ve been spending more time in meditation and prayer, writing and setting myself a structured schedule to continue to write and create. This has been a true blessing these past few weeks. 

During these efforts, I partook in a guided writing exercise to help bring forth my subconscious to paper. To simply see it and allow more clarity in my mind. The activity was to write a letter to someone. I chose to write a letter to my present-day self. To be even more vulnerable, I found that through this exercise, I have been harboring hate subconsciously against myself. The letter was so incredibly encouraging and uplifting–speaking against the inadequacy that I had felt. 

I didn’t realize until after the ink dried that I had been in an ongoing struggle with feeling inadequate, a slave to growth, an imposter to all. 

While I can’t control this terrible circumstance that we’re all in, I’m so incredibly thankful for this season of solitude. I’m not sure how much longer I would have gone before I recognized the hurt that I was holding. I don’t have many answers to this, but I know what the truth says about me. 

I know that I am empowered, and out of the abundance of that is my growth. 
I know that I am strong, and out of the abundance of that is the encouragement I give. 
I know that I am fully loved, and out of the abundance of that I’m able to love others. 
I know that I am on the right track, for when I’m not, I’m always guided back.

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Note (Poem)

Today’s poem is written by our guest author, Tyler. This poem’s imagery completely envelops me, a mental vacation. I hope you can read this poem while sipping in some of the evening’s sunbeams.

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Note

by Tyler Mortensen-Hayes

• • •

—Have you noticed, friends, how amazing it is
that a sunflower contains itself inside
itself, like somebody you love but could never touch;
how it allows itself, come fall, to turn brown
& droop into nothing, though not before spitting
out the miraculous little clusters of sunlight
that have hardened into its seeds, spreading
over the damp garden where congregations of birds
& squirrels & my own two hands gobble them up,
filling with the nourishment of something that,
just weeks ago, did not even exist; & sometime later
all of those seeds—forgive me for mentioning it—
spill out & rejoin everything that remains uneaten
& buried, under leaves or wet earth, waiting the whole long
hazy winter until, clever things, they grow into sunflowers,
& how impossible to witness this again & again,
year after year, & to always take part, always eating
& growing from what rises so softly, so wordlessly,
from the earth, how lucky we are, dearest friends, to be here.

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Tyler is a poet, located in Salt Lake City, a bustling place known for its erratic climate and proximity to vast wildernesses. He once had a friend who told him, “You poets take the weather so personally!” in which Tyler thought–”Why yes, don’t you?”

Rachel W.

I have the honor of knowing several Rachels, all unique in different ways. Rachel W. is no exception–and I’m thrilled to share this poem with you. This poem that’s a part of the Sister Series, a series of celebrating individual women and sharing their beauty through poetry.

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Rachel W.

by Regan Smith

• • •

The earth laughs in flowers, 
a sweet script of poetry 
Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote. 

If the earth laughs in flowers, 
then she must surely be the 
heavens smiling; created with the 
colored lens of joy, kindness; 
a great gift to the earth. 

And with her ivy green eyes, 
she fully embodies the stature of 
Yarrow flower–for her warmth, 
soft smile, and laughter can heal
even the deepest wounds.

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Sister Series 2020

Last year, I felt pulled to start a poetry series in alignment with International Women’s Day, titled Sister Series. In this series, I wrote poems with some specific women in mind, depicting past solely their skin, rather, penning about the beauty within their soul.

I felt a similar pull this year. When I went to go write these poems, I became overwhelmed with gratitude, for I’ve had the opportunity to become acquainted and know so many women over the past year. I decided to write every name I knew in a jar and picked out a few. Over the next month, I will be sharing these works with you.

While these poems were penned with specific women in mind—you will see your mother, your sister, your friend, maybe even yourself—in these poems. I want to encourage you to share these words with them, or even write a few of your own.

This first poem comes from a time I visited Ohio before I moved here for the second time; I was in the Columbus Museum of Art and started weeping for the people here. That’s the moment I knew that Ricky and I would move back here, and naturally, was the perfect poem to start off this series.

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Kindred

by Regan Smith

• • •

I walk through art galleries and weep, 
the paper and paint is beautiful, 
but these humans inhabiting this space
are what take my breath away. 

I see you be moved by an art piece, 
emotions emerging to the surface, 
until they’re shown on your skin. 

My heart is tied to yours, and 
with every atom, I can feel 
when you ache–when you have joy,
my heart soars alongside yours. 

And although today we may be strangers, 
our eyes link for a second,
and that scintillating moment
reminds us that we are sisters.

Metamorphosis

I’ve recently noticed that social media has evoked a lot of its users to promote being stagnant or unchanging. I want to encourage you to partake in healthy rest and seasons of patient pauses, but to continue in the velocity of internal growth or the pursuit of it. With that, this string of consciousness was born: Metamorphosis.

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You don’t need a sign to awaken and self reflect to want to rebirth from your present self and remain in a state of humility becoming a patiently learning larva that sheds its skin through the consumption of truth to build yourself a hidden chrysalis where you grow without all eyes watching and the world may see you as dormant but you’re growing wings and will emerge with an undeniable transformation and you don’t need a sign to encourage this growth in another or to make this metamorphosis cyclical within yourself