Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, housekeeping, light, mess, poem, poetry, presence on February 7, 2013| 3 Comments »
And Not Push Any of It Away
The way the morning sun
in the kitchen shows up all the fingerprints
on the cupboards
and casts shadows past
every crumb on the floor—
isn’t it like that,
a woman who once
begged for more light
only to see, as the light
grew, so many messes
that had gone unseen.
That is not how she’d
told herself it would be.
Perhaps this is
part of what she sees,
not only the mess,
but the one who thinks
she must do something.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged freedom, personal responsibility, poem, prison, tanka on February 6, 2013| 3 Comments »
for years
thinking you were my jailer
these unyielding bars
today finding the key
in my own pocket
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged conversation, life, lost in translation, poem on February 5, 2013| 5 Comments »
It sounded,
perhaps,
like
“Please,
pass the salt,”
but the subtitles
said
(I love you
I love you
I love you)
*
From clay
we came
and today
the ground
reached up
at me
I swear,
as if to say,
“You’re mine,”
and I told
it “Yes, thank you,
yes,
but I ain’t done
with this living
just yet.”
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged habit, haiku, inattention, poem, poetry on February 4, 2013| 2 Comments »
how seldom I see it
that ponderosa pine
I pass every day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dance, Godspell, in love with the world, life, musical, poem, poetry, singing, Zikr on February 3, 2013| 2 Comments »
It starts in the shower at the Hot Springs Pool.
I am singing about the water, how good it feels,
so warm on my shoulders. I am aware there
are other people bathing in nearby stalls,
so I sing it on my breath, a little embarrassed,
but by the time I flounce into the parking lot,
I am singing in full voice to my children to please,
get in the car now, it’s time for lunch. I sashay to avoid
the mud puddles, and unlock the car doors
with a minor flourish of my hand. The car, it hums
a drone for the rest of the days characters
to harmonize against, and so, it seems, the mountains do.
They are singing in the key of February, which is a white,
steep chorus I usually do not hear over the sound
of the radio. But today, it is clear and rousing, and the snow
joins in on the long ride home. Even my son points out
how loud the flakes are as they sing against the panes. At dinner,
I chant to my girl, would you like some pears,
and the offer echoes off the roofbeams. She affirms
with an arpeggio of giggles and so I waltz to the pantry
where the pears croon a late summer sweetness right
out of the jar and onto her plate. It is, perhaps, always
this way, I think, each thing singing its singular song,
and every step a step in the dance in which we all meet
and separate and meet again, turn away and meet again,
and I can’t help but wonder what keeps us
from in every moment wildly clapping, ovation after
ovation, our hands fierce and staccato with praise.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged infinity, little me, perspective, poem, self on February 3, 2013| 2 Comments »
The biggest hope
I dared to hope,
I drew a circle
round it
and then
stepped
beyond the ring,
and saw myself
a small point
of infinity
how miniature
my greatest
hopes,
how slight
what I
call me.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, silence, touch, triolet on February 2, 2013| 3 Comments »
Let’s not talk of things we’ve done,
let’s correspond with touch.
Your skin the land, my hands the sun,
love, let’s not talk of things we’ve done—
we’ll let our chatty fingers run
in tangled narratives… oh hush
mmm, let’s not talk of things we’ve done,
let’s correspond with touch.