yet another note to self

funny how much more beautiful it was
when I thought it was a hawk riding the air,
that crow

Hi Poetry Friends,

I will be teaching a very special four-day workshop for women the last week of February. My partner, Brucie Holler, is an incredible painter, and she and I have created a program designed to help you play, to break through any limitations you place on your own creativity, and to really grow as an artist/poet and woman. No previous writing or painting experience is necessary … and experts welcome, too! We are ready to welcome all women into a big conversation about what it means to be a woman, what it is to have a voice, to be a creator, a maker of beauty and a demolisher of walls …

Join us in Telluride! here’s the link:

Just think of all that had to happen
so I could sit on the porch
this clear winter day and feel the warm sun
on my naked shoulders—bacteria
were engulfed by eukaryotic cells,
and after over a billion years,
multicellular organisms evolved
in the oceans before an explosion
of Cambrian life—sponges, brown
algae and slime molds. And then,
of course, the colonization of land
by the plants and fungi, followed
by arthropods and insects.
Some 500 million years later,
my mother and father met on a date,
set up by friends, and my dad, a biology major,
brought Coke instead of beer, which impressed
my mother, a history major, and they sat
and drank it together, seated on a picnic blanket
which they laid out on grass so green, so new
one could almost wring the saltwater out of it.

The Body Hesitates

it feels so great,
that next step I’m not sure
how to take—
what is it but some arbitrary measure
I’ve imposed on infinity

Oh child, I hope you fail.
I hope you break the thing you believe is most precious
and learn that in its absence, you are still whole.
I hope you lose the love you thought you must have
and find that love inside you that can never be lost.
I hope you are eaten alive by the lie that you tell
and decide that is no way to live.
I hope everything you think you know about yourself crumbles
so completely it can never be rebuilt.
And I hope I have the strength to let you fail,
to fail myself, to meet you in this vulnerable field
where there are no accomplishments worth noting,
no titles, no names, no should, no stories,
only two hearts here for the loving.

Oh body, I’ve tried to silence you.
I have told you not to hunger
when you were starved.
I told you to run and ski and swim
when you were tired.
I tugged you long into the dark corridors of night
when you wanted to sleep.
I draped you in dresses two times too big
to hide your angled bones.
And you, you have lured me to the waterfall
to stand beneath the startling shock.
You have lain me down in tall grass
to lose myself staring up at sky.
You have curled into the softness of men
and held the fear of children.
Inside panic, you have found breath.
You have opened to let the new life pass through,
and given milk and song and hum.
And when the tears want to come,
you let them come.
Body, my vessel, my carriage, my curse,
my blessings, my bane, my teacher,
I am still learning how to be a woman.

On a January Night

less than the width
of my thumb, the distance between
Venus and the moon—

and you, in arm’s reach,
light years away


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