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One Simultaneous

 

 

 

admiring the gold

emerging in the field—

missing the green it was

In a Low-Angled Light

 

 

 

Already shriveled, these marigolds

that line the fence. Something soothing

about the way the flowers keep their color,

though the leaves are brown and dried.

From a distance, they are vibrant.

From a distance, you might forget

that the garden will soon be filled with snow.

So much is ignored in the name of beauty.

Here, here is the season with your name on it,

your name the scent of gold. You find yourself

longing to be more like a lily, dropping everything,

not even pretending to survive the cold.

 

rosmerrytrommerpostcard-01

Join me and Jill Sabella at our opening for In Three Lines, a two-year collaboration. We’ll have food and wine and live music by cellist Kyra Kopestonsky, and 5-minute readings on the 1/2 hour … plus we HOPE to have our new book, Even Now, by then. Join us at the 81435 Gallery.

One Survival

 

 

 

going straight

in the turn only lane—

time to invent wings

Positively

 

 

 

Saying yes to too many things at once

is like eating dark chocolate truffles one

after another after another. The first

 

is infused with wild raspberry, which leads

to a caramel truffle with fleur de sel, which leads

to two smooth champagne truffles, which leads

 

to a tummy ache, bittersweet. My calendar

has a tummy ache. Its numbered squares

are filled in with rows of rich invitations…

 

a book club infused with Louise Erdrich

and Sauvignon Blanc, a meditation retreat

handcrafted with extra silence, a trail run

 

through aspen groves filled with silky light.

How could I pass on any of these delights?

Saying yes to too many things at once

 

is like crossing a remote border at midnight,

and though your pulse races with the thrill,

you have no idea if you will ever know

 

what home means again. Saying yes

to too many things at once is in fact

a disguise for saying no. No to openness,

 

no to spontaneity, no to whatever surprise

might have found its way into the vacant

possibility of that deliciously empty square.

One Inner Desert

 

 

thick with rain

this afternoon and still

the thirstiest parts of me

shriveled

longing to be drenched

 

Crossing the Line

 

 

 

Mi casa es su casa.

My arms are your arms.

My lips are your lips.

My ripeness, yours. My triceps,

yours. My hunger, my nipples,

my skin, my swollen pinks

are yours, yours. And why stop there?

My dry elbows, your elbows.

My bunions, your bunions.

My cyst, your cyst. What part

of me would you rather not love?

Could you miss it? Tell me you will also take

my thinning skin, my widening hips,

my wrinkled cheek, my cracked heel.

If my fear is your fear; my ugly,

your ugly; my broken, your broken;

my shame, your shame, then kiss me

there. Again. Please? Kiss me there.

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