I wish she would. I wish she’d breeze in
with her big white smile and her big blonde hair
and her sing song voice saying, “Hi, y’all.”
I wish she’d come over and sit at the counter
so I could serve her a tall glass of iced tea
or a cool lemonade. Serve her stories of times
when her songs met me in dark hours
or lonely hallways, times when I sang
“Coat of Many Colors,” but heard her voice
instead of mine. Times when I sang about
how wildflowers don’t care where they grow,
somehow feeling so seen by her as a wildflower.
I would serve her stories of the children
I used to work with who lived in a small, dirty house
far from town with an angry dad and an earnest
mom, and how they got books in the mail every month
from Dolly’s book club, how those kids and I would sit
on the old plaid couch and read aloud for hours.
I would want to serve her huge platters of gratefulness
for showing a nation what generosity looks like,
for being a role model for kindness. But I bet Dolly
wouldn’t want a huge platter. My guess is she’d want
a few honest words, so I would say, Thank you,
and she would probably smile and do that shrug
she does. Then we’d walk out to the porch
and sit in the shade and watch as the grass in the field
tells stories about the shape of the wind.
It was never going to happen, this meeting,
but now that Dolly’s gone, I walk outside
with a burgeoning bouquet of many-petalled thank yous
and toss them into the air. I imagine the wind
taking them to her, a colorful, fanciful folly.
I imagine a world where we’re all as generous,
as loving, as impossible yet possible as Dolly.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Dolly Parton, generosity, hero, imagination, kindness | Leave a Comment »
too tired to wake
too excited to stay in bed—
one bright slant of light
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged exhaustion, light, waking | 1 Comment »
It was cold, the water, and clear, so clear,
and we swam through the center of a secret cove
in the calm, blue water, my daughter and I,
surrounded by pine trees and smooth white rocks.
The morning was new and the lake water still,
and no matter how far we swam, we saw
to the sandy, white bottom. In a world of chaos,
currents and swirl, I longed for my heart to be that clear.
For a moment, it was. For a moment, I understood
the magnitude of the gift of clear blue water
and smooth white rocks, a strong able body
and a secret cove. I may not know what holy means,
but I know I want to give back to this world that gave me
a gray and glorious morning swimming with my girl.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daughter, gift, holy, Lake Tahoe, mother, swimming, world citizen | 4 Comments »
not one thing growing
in the vast salt flats
but beside me my daughter sings
and I know, right here, heaven
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daughter, heaven, mother, road trip | 2 Comments »
driving straight toward the lightning—
did you think I’d forgotten about you?
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged connection, lightning, storm | 5 Comments »
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 | 15 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 | 13 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 | 2 Comments »
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 »