One summer’s evening, when a woman was sitting
with friends at a table in a fine establishment,
her daughter announced it was the one hundredth
anniversary of Winnie-the-Pooh. “Well, Hallo,”
said the woman, as she remembered how oftenishly
she and her son would play a game in which
they would guess at what character a person would be
if they lived in the Hundred Acre Wood, so,
scratching her ear in shy sort of way,
she suggested they play such a game.
One woman at the table, being a good adventurer
and liking to stay at the edge of the action,
knew at once she would be Christopher Robin.
Another was mostly Tigger with a dusting of Eeyore
and a share of Piglet-ish nervousness. And the woman,
who had long known she was part Tigger and part Rabbit,
seeing as how she was both exuberant and rather fond
of control, was not keen to discover that perhaps
she was also a bit of Owl, somewhat of a know it all
who is most likely wrong, especially, as it turns out,
about which character her daughter might pick
for herself, which made it Awkward when the woman’s
inner Rabbit took notes and scoffed, and her inner Owl
went on believing it knew best. But her inner
Friendly Tigger soon felt Bouncy and Boffish again,
just enjoying the night. “Perhaps we all have a bit
of all the characters in us,” one woman suggested.
Such a Pooh thing to say. And the evening went on quite right.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged community, control, exuberance, identity, Winnie-the-Pooh | 2 Comments »
for Mom and Dad on their anniversary
Mostly I remember them holding hands.
Not swinging over rivers filled with crocodiles.
Not passionately kissing on the edge of a canyon.
Not jumping from planes, though they did scuba dive.
I remember them peeling and chopping
thirty pounds of carrots they bought bulk
so they can freeze them. I remember them
cleaning the boat. I remember them stopping
for rummage sale signs on Saturdays and sitting
in the back row of the church on Sundays
and sitting on the couch holding hands
on most days. And even so Dad isn’t here
today on their anniversary, he is here.
I remember how they shaped each other with their love
in an everyday way, year after year after year,
then offered that love to me, to the world.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged anniversary, love, marriage | 10 Comments »
There is the moment when the woman
is deciding what to make for dinner—
a tofu curry with beet greens from the garden?
Or maybe guacamole with all those avocados
she bought on sale. When she reaches
for the greens, that’s the kind of moment
when a Greek goddess doesn’t appear beside her
and shake her head as if everything depends
on the woman choosing the guac.
Something wonderful about a choice
with so little consequence. Red socks or blue?
The low green vase or the clear vase from Finland?
The woman has read about the butterfly effect,
trusts a life—in fact all of civilization—is built
on every smallest choice and inaction.
But tonight there is peace in the way she presses
water from the tofu, then slides the white cubes
into the pan. Six seven, as the kids would say.
The scent of turmeric fills the room.
If a goddess were to show up, she’d probably
just ask for a glass of sauv blanc and join
the woman for a bowl of curry. They would
sit at the kitchen table for hours, laughing
as the cats chase each other across the room,
talking about the three-hour movie they just saw.
Tomorrow, the choice. But tonight,
the goddess nods at the sunflowers on the table.
“I like your low green vase,” she says.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged athena, butterfly effect, choices, decision, food, goddess, odyssey | Leave a Comment »
There is a slip of time before the foot
missteps and twists and breaks, that moment when
the bone’s still whole, the woman still upright.
And from that slip, well, then there’s only after.
After, when the bone is cast. After,
when the child has left. After, when
the callous words can’t be unsaid, the missing
ring can’t be unlost, the train can never
be unmissed. And now, and now, and now
is both before and after and a tip-
ping point on which we cannot pause or stand.
But if we did trip off the tip of time,
what would we find beneath it all? A chance
to play in the infinite? Or would we simply fall and fall and fall?
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged sonnet, time | 14 Comments »
so soon the pink dahlia petals
begin to shrivel and dry,
and look at these hands
that cut away what is dead,
they, too, are dahlia
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged aging, dahlia, garden | 4 Comments »
The way the cellist smiled at the first violinist,
that is the way I want to smile when I die,
a joyful smile that says, “I am all in on this song;
and here, let me now toss the melody to you.”
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged chamber music, memento mori, mortality | 13 Comments »
I know I like to keep my secrets close. It’s who I am.
That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doesn’t mean
I don’t appreciate it when you plant larkspur
and roses, lavender bushes and apricot trees,
as if you believe in investing in a world years from now.
Of course, I appreciate the way you call your congressmen
to tell them about the world you believe we could live in.
I love every time you put a letter in the mail with a stamp,
every time you learn a new skill or make a ten-year-plan.
How beautiful you are to me when you dream.
It’s lonely here, of course. Everyone always coming toward
but never arriving. I’m not complaining.
Being the future has its perks. Like infinite potential.
Like hope. I know it’s hard sometimes to believe
you will ever get through this. But haven’t you learned by now
that just because you don’t see the way forward
doesn’t mean they way doesn’t exist?
That is the only promise I can make you, sweetheart.
You can’t see the path. But here it is.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged epistle, future, letter | 4 Comments »
It felt so good to walk in the rain,
to walk in the rain and not put
on the raincoat I’d carried for
over ten miles, to not put on
the raincoat and let the rain
soak into my sleeves, my
shoes, my thoughts, my
words, let rain soak in
and realize with each
squishy step each
soggy word what
a gift it is to not
always protect
myself from
the world.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged grief, hiking, rain, vulnerability | 4 Comments »
Everyone else has gone to bed.
A boy and his mother sit
at the table in the house
they are renting for a few
more days. They are familiar
the way my eyes are familiar.
He sees a large cockroach
climbing the wall, and when
his mom squeals, he gets up,
grabs it, throws it to the ground
with youthful efficiency,
then smiles at his mother,
a tender smile that says,
I like taking care of you, mom.
But the boy is not happy.
Soon he is crying. His eyes
are empty, colorless, black.
Then it is only the mother
sitting at the table, her
empty hands full of fear,
uncertainty, lack. Why
do I return to this moment,
knowing I cannot change
what happens the next day?
The closet. The gun. The choice.
I go back to slip my hands beneath
the mother’s empty hands,
making for them a nest,
then sneak up the stairs to the boy
in his room in his bed in his pain,
and though I know it will not change
a thing, I whisper in his ear,
there is nothing you can do
that will keep me from loving you.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged compassion, grief, mother, past, son, suicide | 28 Comments »
Cool rain is falling through sunshine today
and the canyon’s red walls are radiant
with the contradiction. The world
smells of dry earth mixing with sky,
a rich and generative perfume
that weaves into all that grows.
Witnessing the beauty of this day,
equal parts clear and stormy,
this is how a person might come to trust
the acute aliveness we feel
when we dance with both sorrow
and gladness at the same time,
one partner asking us to crawl, to bow,
the other bidding us raise our arms
to twirl in joyful abandon. In the distance,
thunder. In the foreground, the swallows
are ceaseless in their swirling.
They do not try to avoid the raindrops
nor do they shun the sun.
On the inside, a feeling loops and dives,
swoops and circles back. It says,
This life is not easy. What a gift to be alive.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged birds, dance, paradox, rain, sun, swallows, wholeness | 10 Comments »