Cordelia Naumann is a digital project manager and information developer in San Bruno, California. Her first poetry collection, Ghostpins (2021), is an exploration of what it is to recover from the experience of losing her siblings to violent and tragic deaths, growing up with abuse and addiction, and a loss of self and friendship. As she explores these themes, she intertwines them with her observations of nature and the animals in and around her home — helping her heal and find beauty in longing.
Poems on Belonging
STORIES YOU MIGHT HAVE MISSED IN 2020 (SAN BRUNO EDITION)
The Joneses across the street gave birth to their third child. Assigned female at birth, they are waiting for her to identify. They call her Horse. On occasion, Horse escapes, goes door-to-door, and forages for food.
People have figured out that the fireworks are just that, and why are there so many people outside the gun store?
Dog adoptions are up, as are people complaining about dog poop on Nextdoor. Your puppy turned seven this year.
We all got fit, or fat. We won’t know until next year when the Peloton pays for itself, or it doesn’t. Gen Z continues to negotiate time off to surf.
The number of crows has now matched or exceeded the world population.
The cat still doesn’t care.
BROZZI’S GOOD DEATH (THE HOPE OF NOW)
I wanted this to be beautiful for you.
In the photo I had of you, before I
gave away all my memories, your face is hidden,
arms outstretched to the right, sun on your olive skin.
Your dreadlocks fall around your downward gaze,
illuminated like light through the Catalpa.
And if I animate you in the time between
first light and dawn, your boyish smile and
sleepy brown eyes light up my morning,
even though you’re gone.
I missed you like you missed Reya, after Camilla took her away.
I watched your story like an endless election night, and my longing never waned.
I watched you search, fly, drain accounts, dent couches.
I hoped you would hold your daughter again.
Hopes for 2021 Include
The bat, understood
Glass slaughterhouses
Soft ground for red geraniums
Using the term scarcity in a sentence
Fewer planes, the return of the songbird
I know nothing more than you were reunited, a decade later. The last words
I read were: “She’s ok. By bedtime last night she was cool,” you said.
You all returned to Norway. Camilla took up singing again.
Two years later, you died in your sleep. They call that a good death.
I found a selfie of you on Instagram, electrodes attached to
your hard, lean, body. Why did you shave your beautiful dreads?
I don’t know how you died, on account of no account.
I let the mystery be.
Did your heart break, or finally unbreak, leaving nothing left of longing?
Maybe you came here to do what
you needed to, to grace us with your beauty,
and show us the depths of a father’s love.
Hopes Now Include
Let love lead me
Let the mystery be
Copyright © 2021 by Cordelia Naumann. Used with permission of the author.
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