Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cello, losing the self, loss, music, poem, Rostropovich on June 30, 2012| 2 Comments »
It is Bach
I tell the broccoli
knife keeps quarter beats
*
all my empty spaces
alive with cello and silence—
every loss
has made it possible
this breathtaking resonance
*
the music touches
me everywhere, everywhere
purple gladiolas
*
in the kitchen
I am being spun, whirling
the cello bows
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, circling, freedom, losing the self, poem, poetry, sound on June 29, 2012| 5 Comments »
So busy watching my feet
move over the small stones,
dried leaves, paths of ants,
it is a long time before
I see the birds.
*
What is it I am circling?
What is this longing
to name it?
*
The slats of shadow
and light only look
like prisons.
We slide through the bars
like song.
*
The bell does not ring
when we call it bell. It rings
with the playing of it.
*
And what is playing me,
this too-solid bell of a
flesh called woman,
Hollow me, I am
diligently practicing
my one note
in the symphony.
*
All these obstacles,
and still
the unspiraling line.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, forgiveness, poem on June 28, 2012| 3 Comments »
It never looks like we think it will.
I imagine flowers, of course,
or an open field, or a single plum
in the center of a bowl.
But today, forgiveness is a scrap of net,
mostly hole, with frayed ends
and matted with white paint.
It has no apparent use.
It holds nothing, it comes
with no instructions.
I had thought it would serve me.
I had thought it would make me
feel better or get me further along
than where I was. I thought
I could make it happen.
And here is forgiveness,
a featherweight shred,
something I might have overlooked
if it hadn’t been placed
in my hands.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged parenting, poem, walking, wits end on June 27, 2012| 4 Comments »
That was the day
that she stopped the car
at the edge of the highway,
opened the door,
got out and began to walk.
Past the ditch full of cattails
and blue plastic bags,
past the yellow mail box,
past the house with the royal blue roof,
past the dead cat,
past the empty cardboard box,
she did not look back,
past the man digging in his field
who remarked it was too hot
to walk, and she nodded and
kept on walking.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged armageddon, beauty, dragonfly, haiku, mess, moon, space, story, surprise on June 27, 2012| 2 Comments »
balanced on a twig—
two blue dragonflies and
all that space between them
*
the story, calloused
and gnarled, inside it
red leaping blood
*
picking up the moon
like a telephone to dial
your number, of course
*
contemplating
dessert for
the Armageddon
*
opening a can
of worms to find
rose petals
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bug, darkness, infinity, insect, light, not knowing, poem on June 26, 2012| 2 Comments »
We remark those bugs
that hurl themselves
toward the light
and perhaps, because
we too are focused there,
we miss all those insects
that rocket themselves
deeper and deeper
quiet, as fast as they can
into the infinite dark.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, body, bow, humanness, humility, poem, practice, suffering on June 26, 2012| 3 Comments »
I bow to the ache of it,
the deep inner eating
away at itself, I bow
to the shivers, the gooseflesh,
the waves of nausea and pain.
I bow to the unnamed,
to question, to dark.
And I bow to the fear
that swells in small spaces
and the vast quiet
that dissipates the fear.
I bow to every other human
who hurts and I bow
to the yellow flowers tonight
blooming in the muck
where the river used to be.
I bow to the ache, goddammit,
I bow to it and I bow
to the reluctance to bow to it,
bow to the longing to shove
it all away, and I bow,
hush now, just bow.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged freedom, knot, loss of self, love, not knowing, poem, poetry, rope on June 23, 2012| 6 Comments »
This rope of love
I tied in knots
without knowing
how to untie them.
Knot after knot,
I tied a net
for catching
myself, all the while
longing for freedom.
Why do we play
such games—
one hand open
in prayer, begging
for one thing,
the other hand working
as fast as it can
for the opposite.
You know the old
magician’s trick
when he produces
from his pocket
a knotted rope,
mumbles some magic,
and with his words
all the knots fall out.
Ta da! Well, it was not fast like that,
but slowly and quietly
and one by one
with both hands
open and by some
miracle all the knots came
undone and I
am falling, falling
through the threads
I thought would save me,
falling into the stark
between the stars,
falling through
the fragrance of laughter
and the silence
after that.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged carnival, gardening, haiku, nostalgia, poem on June 22, 2012| 3 Comments »
spinning on the tilt-a-whirl
scent of tomato leaves
still on my hands
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged arguing, mothering, separation, tall poppies, tanka on June 22, 2012| 3 Comments »
he pushes and he
pushes and he pushes and
he pushes and I
push back and we both topple
tall poppies hacked at the stem