Dear Diary by Martha Silano

Dear Diary,

Today wasn’t such a good idea. Not to seem ungrateful,
not that I’m not breathing in love, breathing out hate,
inhaling trust, exhaling doubt, but when I tried to shimmy 

into shoulder stand I felt an ache, and it wasn’t
just my lower back. Maybe it’s what happens
in the season of the witch, when most cultures believe 

spirits dance a little closer toward our flat screens,
our pull-out sofa beds. I don’t think they whisper;
they take away our painless poise, replace it 

with a wobbly half-moon we can’t reverse.
My yoga teacher said the darkness is messing with her.
I suggested light treatments, that she stick her head 

in a box marked August. Dear, dear Diary, the ibuprofen
isn’t doing shit. I’ve pasted an ICY HOT to my back;
I’m waiting for relief. The waning’s wonky. I can’t 

find a way in or out of down dog; my forward fold’s
more a backward unravel of the musty blanket
of regret. My plow keeps digging into the loam 

I could’ve tilled more thoroughly—one less call,
one less text. Did I raise them up, my cotyledons,
like a bed of sweet, sweet corn? Was it a good idea 

to hide in my room with a notebook and pen?
Dearest, today the leaves are screaming.
Raucous, like a thousand bleeding tongues. 

Martha Silano’s most recent collections are Gravity Assist and Reckless Lovely, both from Saturnalia Books. She is also co-author of The Daily Poet: Day-by-Day Prompts for Your Writing Practice. Martha teaches at Bellevue College and lives in Seattle, WA. Learn more about her work at marthasilano.net.