Stars in Our Sky Series #9

Christy Umberger's poetry and collages

Stars in Our Sky #9

Christy Umberger, poetry and collages.

Dear subscribers,

We are delighted to introduce Christy, a talented artist and friend of Zan’s from Fort Collins who, through the Bumble BFF app, found a group of women looking for friendship and started an Article Club, which has since blossomed into a cherished community. Truly a star in our sky!

Here is her background:

Currently based in Fort Collins, Colorado, I’m a poet and artist. (Although I think poetry could be considered art, too, so maybe I’m simply an artist?) Either way, I love expressing myself through various art forms, mainly poetry, but I like to dabble in other arts, too—analog collage being my favorite. I just had my first poem published in Anodyne Magazine, and I have a couple more poems forthcoming at other publications, as well. See my poetry and art on my Instagram page, @christy.umberger.

ZAN AND PA: Christy, what inspires you?

CHRISTY: Nature is by far my biggest inspiration. Lately, I find myself trying to think of other topics to start poems from, aside from nature, since that is so often what I start with. The way nature is constantly changing around me reminds me how I’m alive and always growing, too. How I have to stop and admire each day, because each day the scene, and I, am different. I’m inspired by my daily walks—which during the summer now are always during sunset or twilight to beat the excessive sun and heat—watching the colors in the dimming sky, seeing what flowers are blooming this week, and watching the bats emerge for their nightly rounds.

I’m also inspired by learning new things: Reading new books, Taking art and writing workshops to practice art in a new way, Watching artistic films, Going to concerts to watch musicians in their expression, and Traveling and moving to new places. I also am endlessly inspired by healing work that connects me more deeply to myself, such as spiritual, psychological, and energetic healing modalities.

I’m so drawn to writing to make sense of the world and myself. Often I don’t even really know how I’m feeling until I write it down. And I can be so much more eloquent and real in writing compared to speaking. Poetry, specifically, feels like the most free writing form to shape my feelings, thoughts, ideas, and experiences into anything—opening itself up to formats, topics, and interpretations that have no bounds.

She’s a Pisces.

Highway Exit

So many stars, and I learn the desert

has hills—wide open purple mountains

under the moon. Black Canyon City—

the tiny town of cattle guards, constellations, no trespassing signs, and loaded grapefruit trees—is tucked under

the highway, full of free spirits with just enough fear

to keep them in their fenced-in front yards. In our apartment for the week, the king bed by the window holds

all three of us—the cat’s favorite corner. In a strange

kitchen, we cook with unknown ingredients grabbed

from the small grocery store’s limited shelves. Working next to the cow in the backyard, Arizona’s early spring heat baptizes us with eternal summer; we eat banana cream pie

before each afternoon hike. The lizards on the trails aren’t interested in being friends, yet as a passer-through, I’m dismissed but allowed. Tall, silent families of saguaros watch,

and every cactus blossom is a one-day miracle. Free from my usual self-inflicted routine, I float out the door anytime I want into the sun—roaming like the cows. At a time

when I was looking for any and everything

new, I fall in love with a dusty little desert town like I fall in love with life on the road.

Capricorn Dreaming Season

To Be Civilized In October

Death in the streets and at the base of every tree Brings uncontrolled nature to my apartment complex

And even the HOA yards nearby. Gold sings Not just above me, but below my feet

Crunching piles with a growing

Smile. The falling is constant

Even without wind. The chaos of leaves everywhere Wakes my suburban Colorado neighborhood,

From domesticated denial

Of mortality, to wild truth.

I’m comforted by the death around me

—no ambulance speeding to collect

My loved one’s body. For a few weeks

Until the landscapers return

With their military-grade mowers,

Formaldehyde, glyphosate, and leaf blowers,

I can sit with and touch each dead leaf with Bare hands: one crumbles at first touch, one is damp,

One still feels alive.

***