Kelli Woodworth

It Takes Two
Kelli Woodworth

to communicate poorly. The daughters who have 

to translate their mother’s words because they

can’t speak English. How terrible when no 

one can understand you, like the bark of a dog.

When it rains I get angry. My mood turns sour 

and I curl up in my bed and never want to 

see you again. We dance around each other 

in an excruciating rendition of Swan Lake.   

You can’t judge a game by a win or loss. I have 

a lot of fun playing your chess game. You know

that I only ever learned how to play checkers; the

odds are never in my favor, I lose every time.

Ignorance is a great way to ignore all the worlds problems.  

I wish I could walk down a New York City street and not 

become overwhelmed by the amount of people holding signs 

on curbs. Curse my heart for being full of empathy for them.

A penny for your attempts at trying to get better.  

I applaud the willingness to change even 

though I know it will never work out for you.  

You make me want to slam my door on the way out. 

A fate worse than being forgotten is being misplaced.

I lie to my grandmother about still having the doll she 

gave me years ago. I can’t bare to disappoint her when she asks

where I display it in my room. Her smile means too much.

All’s well that ends with a lesson learned. I bought a new doll 

for my grandma’s sake. I’ve noticed sometimes we sound like 

dogs barking when we fight. The dance continues until I slam the 

door, rushing to the streets just to ignore my surroundings again. 

Song of Myself

The notes of my song are not effortlessly played. My song is a 

waltz performed with broken chords that not even Mozart is 

prepared to challenge. Yet, every day I sit at my piano and recreate

my song with all its particular notes, and it still sounds just like me.

I am dedicated. I am devoted to what I do no matter the cost. 

I know that no matter what, my strong-willed mindset will get me 

through even the toughest of adversities I face. And it has.   

I love everything green. Whether it’s the frog boots I stomped 

around in as a child willing the rain to never stop, the tennis 

ball I take my anger out on with my skillful serve, or the tall trees I 

climb in my cousin's yard, I am thankful for all that is green in this world. 

My mind is a place of solace through the endless cycle of days

that pass by. I crawl inside every night and rest amongst my dreams of

fulfilling the goals I know aren’t impossible If I view them as achievable.

The optimist in me is staring at a glass that is always half full.  On days

when I feel a drought surfacing, the water flowing inside my glass

never drains or topples over. It remains still and harbors the boat that

drops its anchor down below the surface to keep me steadily in place.        

And my looking glass transports me to Wonderland whenever I please. It 

enables me to to climb through when I wish to to seek comfort in my favorite

story. It is a glass that never shatters and ensures my imagination remains alive.

I am loving by nature. It is a cherished gift that my mother bestowed

on me even before I became aware of the harsh world in which I exist.  I have no

need for cupid’s arrow, he can aim it toward someone who needs to be struck 

into the reality that nothing can compare to the love this world can offer.

Music is constantly flowing freely through my body. The gentle melodies of 

a chorus moving me into a state of contentment that I carry with me through

my days.  My heart beats soundly to the rhythms of my favorite songs.

Although I am in no way graceful in my movements, my mind 

dances through problems with the ease and delicacy of 

the swan that Apollo admires, swimming through the tense 

situations with solutions when all hope seems to be lost.       

Most importantly, I am a fighter.  I believe in what is just and strive to change 

things for the better.  I turn the page through each chapter of the songbook 

of my life fighting each green-eyed monster that thinks they can knock me down.

So I sit upon the stool at my piano bench ready to face the song 

that no living being dares to take on. I turn through the chapters 

of my songbook and land on a song that, despite its imperfections,

betwitches those who listen. It is the Song of Myself.

Ode to Regret

You are an unsolvable puzzle, 

placed on the dining table under 

the dim light.  Pieces are scattered

everywhere, but always left untouched.

You often haunt us throughout the week

 as the days drag on, like a spirit that

 emerges from the shadows to  

 lurk by your bedside.

Tell me how you can harshly throw us down

 just to pick us right back up so gracefully.

 How you extend your hand out from above us

and allow us to latch on and stay for a dance.  

Tell me how you combine with our misery 

and penetrate skin like a sharp dagger.  

How you always patiently await our entry into

 your classroom so you can teach us your lessons.   

How you clutch onto memories and 

dive into our minds.  Pulling us

into a trance and slowly transforming

our brains as you build within us.