Posted in Uncategorized, tagged irony, longing, poem, poetry on June 30, 2014| 2 Comments »
missing
the feeling
of missing you
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dead end, poem, poetry on June 30, 2014| 1 Comment »
signs always warn you
about the dead end—funny how seldom
people read signs
*
a heroine addict,
still wishing
for a glass slipper
*
the end itself
was not dead,
only playing possum
*
hello
bright world
said the supernova
*
oh foolish woman
believing if she rewrites the sign
the road itself will change
*
an insurance policy
for enlightenment—
that’s one way to lose everything
*
scattered like jacks
all these happily ever afters
I thought I wanted
*
walking into the sunset
I forget
to stop walking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bird, freedom, paradox, poem, poetry on June 29, 2014| 1 Comment »
Before we can be what we are meant to be, we must accept what we are not.
–Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening , June 29
Bird in a cage
every day she drops the seeds
till beneath her
then all around her
a tangle of wild things.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged naming, poem, poetry, uncertainty, unlearning, wildflower on June 28, 2014| 2 Comments »
I don’t know the name of the flower
about to bloom beside the trail,
but it has the leaves of a lily
and a single bud that hangs heavy
off a long bent stem.
Just as I don’t know the name
for the feeling I have when
I want you to act a certain way
and I have not yet realized
that my wanting is the problem.
Neither of these things matter—
the names, I mean. We like to think
that by naming a thing we know it.
But I have stopped believing that.
Whatever we can name, we start to overlook.
The heliotrope, for instance.
I greet it as we walk by, but I do not
stop to investigate its tiny white flowers,
nor do I rub its leaves between my fingers
to better understand their shape.
Imagine I did not know your name.
So every time we met I would
gather everything I could about you—
the scent of you, the shape of your hands,
the weather of your moods.
And imagine I forgot me, too,
and in discovering you, I’d see
myself anew. And I would be unfamiliar
with words such as happiness or forgiveness
or wound or wife.
Ah, to meet each other like that, the way we meet
this strange flower. More inquisitive than convinced.
More curious, less sure. Less like gods,
omniscient, commanding, more as if we are the ones
with so much opening left to do.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, presence on June 27, 2014| 1 Comment »
What a blessing
while driving, this
hard, hard rain—
I forget the bed
I woke in,
forget any point
on the map
that is not here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, happiness, mother, poem, poetry on June 25, 2014| 3 Comments »
By early afternoon, I have become
my mother. Despite mounting evidence
that the world is falling apart, I find
reasons to be grateful. The light in the leaves,
for instance. And the scent of the mint
in the garden that I let grow rampant,
the way my mother did. It is not that
I do not want to become my mother.
No, she was happy to become her mother,
and I am happy to become mine. Not
that I have any choice. I nod too much
and stay up too late and wear clothes
out of style because they make me happy.
I am glad I finally stopped fighting it.
After all, the world is falling apart,
and it’s easier to meet this fact
with a smile that often finds my face and some
very comfortable, though ugly, shoes.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anger, connection, isolation, poem, poetry on June 24, 2014| 1 Comment »
in the tall grass, the way
a small purple ball might be lost.
It would take a long, long
time to be found,
maybe never.
But the Truth Is
We all long to be found.
Even when we shout
at the other person,
Go away! There
is an equally
powerful voice,
one that we squash,
and it says,
I need you. How
we hate for that
to be true. Easier
to believe that we
don’t need anyone.
Easier to say to oneself,
in a voice loud enough
to drown out any other voice,
I would like
to get lost in the tall,
tall grass, the way
a small purple ball
might be lost.
(with a nod to Art Goodtimes, who sent me a poem of his own with the title in the middle the other day … what a great new way to play with titles!)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, love, parenting, poem, poetry on June 23, 2014| Leave a Comment »
My daughter asks me to carry her.
She is almost six, and she can walk,
can walk and run and use the word
infinity in a sentence. Still this longing
to be carried. This longing to be lifted
and held and loved and moved through
the world all at once. I recognize her want.
When I was a girl, I remember how,
after we’d gone to a party and arrived
home after dark, I would pretend
to be asleep in the back seat of the rusting
yellow car. I’d will my limbs to dangle
and make my eyes stay shut—all
to secure the two minutes it took for my father
to pick my body up and transport me
from the Chevy to my thin twin bed.
Oh, the strength of my father’s arms.
How to this night I remember them,
the warmth of his torso, and how solid
it felt, his love. And so when my daughter
asks me to carry her, I do not say no.
Because I still can carry her. And because
as old as I am, I still wish sometimes that
someone would lift me from wherever
I am and hold me, hold me as they carry
me through the cold and into a warm,
familiar place where I still believe
everything will be alright.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, sweetness on June 22, 2014| 5 Comments »
Sometimes for no reason
a sweetness comes. A pink scent,
perhaps, just beyond a fence,
or the particular way that a friend
says your name. It never lasts,
and it usually passes too quickly to name,
but for that moment the body opens
to meet whatever the sweetness is—
the way the low light moves across
the field or the fragrance of rain—
and though nothing changes,
the world is a much different place.
Imagine we could constellate our lives
on these points of sweetness—
such a different kind of mapping
that would be—a life not told
in highs and lows but in the subtler
tones—the times we turned our heads
or breathed in more fully, or closed
our eyes so we might better notice
a taste. The times our hearts skip
a beat, like tiny silent thank you notes.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, midsummer, mountains, poem, poetry on June 21, 2014| 1 Comment »
Just because it’s the longest day of the year
doesn’t mean that the bean sprouts in the garden
won’t freeze tonight. Again. As they did last night.
And two nights before that. So I water them.
I water them real good, for I am still shocked
and delighted that the process of freezing creates
a degree of heat. Every time I consider that fact,
it stuns me. It’s like a joke that makes me laugh
no matter how many times I have heard it.
And though it’s all rather predictable amongst the rows,
what comes up when and what the frost will kill,
it is always new. I never stop marveling at the pure
determination of those tiny leaves as they thrust
through the hard dirt crust. And marvel again at their
vulnerability on nights like tonight when the wind
gets lost some other where and the stars shine clear
in the cold night air and the frost doesn’t care
if I’ve planted the beans again. And again. The earth
spins on its invisible spit and summer goes on
as it always does, different than it’s ever been.