While pulling the beets,
it’s impossible to lose faith
in the world. Those tiny seeds
that once fit in the palm are now
large red globes,
dense with dark sweetness
and heavy in the hand.
They are like promises kept,
like small proofs in patience,
confirmations that sometimes
the good that’s growing can’t be seen.
They are like hard truths.
Not everyone will want them.
But some will. Some will.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged beets, faith, garden, truth | 7 Comments »
Real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.
—Ruth Bader Ginsburg, as quoted in Notorious RBG by Irin Carmen and Shana Knizhnik
So let me take one step right now,
one step toward respect.
And give me strength to take another
toward clarity. And though
my feet might feel like stones, let
me take another step toward justice.
And another toward equity. And another
toward truth. And though my legs
may feel leaden and slow, though someone
else may step on my toes, may I inch
toward forgiveness. May every step
be toward a bridge. Enough divisiveness.
And as I go, may I find joy in the stepping,
grace in the edging toward great change.
But if there’s little joy, let me step anyway.
Then take another step. And another. And another.
*
Thank you, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Thank you for showing us another way to fight. Thank you for bringing us together right now. Thank you for all you did to stand up for what is just. Thank you for your commitment, determination, inspiration and true leadership. A Matriot.
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You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.
—Rainer Maria Rilke, “You See, I Want a Lot,” trans. Robert Bly
Rilke, you were right.
I want so much to be useful.
Today I stared at the brown cardboard box
on the counter and marveled
at how a box knows exactly what it’s here to do—
it holds what needs to be held,
it keeps things together,
it helps things move where they need to go.
It is a fort for a child or a bed for a cat
or a makeshift sled in winter.
I hazard to say the box never worries
if it is enough. It simply folds up
when its task is done and waits to be of use again.
Or not. Oh, this longing to do more, to be more,
to serve more, because in every direction,
the need is so great. Oh, this fear
that no matter how much I do, it is never enough.
A man is not a crowbar, a hoe.
A woman is not a box,
but oh for a moment to be able
to keep things together.
I know it’s not how it works,
but oh, for a moment,
to hold all that needs to be held.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged box, Rilke, service, usefulness | Leave a Comment »
and when
the larkspur
petals fall and when
the fall begins to sing
and when the song weaves
through the loss and when
the loss dyes
everything, when
everything is
emptier and emptiness
is whole somehow, when
whole is what a life
does, when life is
what is now, when
now is
ever changing
and changing knows
no end, when
any ending
I might seek is
just another
when
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged change, eternity, fall, grammar | Leave a Comment »
And if I felt into that dark ache
in my gut, would it cover me
with its stench? Would it stick
to me like tar, like muck, like pitch?
Would it suck me in like quicksand
so that the more I tried to save myself,
the deeper in I would sink?
And if I waved from its depths,
who would save me?
And if I don’t meet it at all,
what if I don’t meet it at all?
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged fear, unknown | Leave a Comment »
Three poems of mine came out today in ONE ART: A Journal of Poetry, an online journal that I love to read. Please check it out–it’s a great place to find other poems and poets you’ll love.
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How does she do it? She hitches a ride on the blow, a stowaway on that which brings her down.
—Teddy Macker, “The Mosquito and the Raindrop”
There I was, making tea in my kitchen,
when fear hit me like a school bus.
I didn’t need a scientist or therapist
to tell me it hurt.
I screamed: Arghh! I shouted: No!
But after smashing into me,
fear just opened the folding glass door
of the bus, yanked me on,
then plopped me into a green vinyl seat.
I’m scared, I said.
Yeah, fear said. ’Cause I’m scary.
Yeah, I squealed, as the bus careened
through the couch, through
my bedroom, through the splintering
dining room table.
What if I lose everything? I said to fear.
Yeah, said fear, what if you do?
And who will I be when everything changes?
Yeah, said fear, who will you be?
Then he opened the door
and shoved me off the bus
and I was standing again beside
the familiar green counter,
tea cup in hand, not a drop spilled.
Who will you be? he shouted
from the half open window.
I took a deep breath,
not knowing how to answer.
Good, fear said, as if uncertainty were a gift.
And who, fear said, as the bus peeled away,
who are you now? Who are you, really?
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged bus, fear, teddy macker | 7 Comments »
hovering over
the generous blank
the pen wonders how to improve
on all that potential—
oasis without a trail
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ars poetica, blank, writing | 2 Comments »
