in your voice
looking for the color
of larkspur,
finding only
a broken stem
*
oh silly woman
who thinks she is
a woman
when she is an entire
universe, a larkspur
Archive for July, 2014
Two Discoveries
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged larkspur, poem, poetry on July 31, 2014| 1 Comment »
Beyond the Big Dipper
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged constellations, imagination, poem, poetry on July 30, 2014| 1 Comment »
a c-poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie
Imagine with trillions of stars above
all the constellations yet to find—
maybe a canary in a cage that sings
to a miner across the sky.
And perhaps over there is a cyclone—
see that swirl of stars in a cluster?
To the west there’s a giant carrot
and a lucky four-leaf clover.
With our eyes, we can draw all the lines we want—
we can connect the stars into cactus,
or calla lilies (not lilies at all),
or cupcakes! Or Japanese catfish …
oh, I think that catfish was a bad idea—
he’s causing an earthquake in the sky—
quick, redraw him as a cat
sitting on the lap of the miner’s wife.
Even on nights filled with clouds
we can look up and make believe
that the stars somewhere are wishing on us
to give them stories before we dream.
Or Say Nothing at All
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged language, mahogany, poem, poetry on July 30, 2014| 1 Comment »
Teach me, world, to speak
in mahogany—to begin
every word with a hum
and deliver each word
with a laugh and end every word
with the trust
that if it wanted to
the word could go on
forever.
Finding the Girl
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, finding the self, hiding, poem, poetry on July 30, 2014| 1 Comment »
She pulled the covers
over her head and hid.
She didn’t really want to hide.
She wanted to be found,
but the only way to be found
is first to be lost.
I find her.
Her body heaves. A little lump, she is.
A little lump that whimpers and longs
to be held, even as it kicks
at whatever warmth comes close.
Oh this terrible loneliness.
It becomes a habit. It is so easy
to see the lie of it
as it ravages someone else.
But this morning
when loneliness rose up in myself
I only pretended I wasn’t hiding.
I’ve learned to wear my covers
on the inside. No one notices. Either that,
or perhaps they’ve learned to pretend
to not see that I am a lump,
a little lump just hoping (or is it dreading)
to be found.
A Good Reason to be a Gardener
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, garden, poem, poetry, sunflower on July 27, 2014| 1 Comment »
It is not so easy to change.
Consider the sunflower you dug yesterday
from one crowded corner of the garden
and moved to another more open space.
How you dug all around it to keep the roots
intact. You pre-watered the new hole.
You told it what would happen. You held
the stem firmly and pulled with great care.
But it didn’t matter, all these precautions.
The sunflower wilted, bent double, leaves
flagged. So why should you not expect
the same when you make a great change
in yourself. It doesn’t matter that the end
result makes more sense or seems healthier.
Change is hard. Though you tell yourself
it will be okay. Though you tug at your own roots
with great care. Here you are, bent double,
dreams flagging, looking dead or close to dead.
And that sunflower, darned if it isn’t on the edge of bloom
even right now outside the window.
It doesn’t always go that way.
But sometimes a gray sky comes along
at just the right time to slow everything down
and damn if those petals aren’t just about
to come up gold.
On My Way to the Castle
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged giving, poem, poetry, question on July 26, 2014| Leave a Comment »
a q-poem for Lian Canty’s alphabet menagerie
It was a funny little man
I met on the street, with the sparklingest
look in his eye.
He said, I have some things
right here in my bag that I think you might
just like to buy.
Now I had a quarter,
shiny as a quasar, and a new dollar
crisp and clean,
and I said to the man,
show me what you have
that I might give to a queen.
First he pulled out a quill.
For just one dollar bill,
he said, and I declined.
Then he pulled out a quail
with a curving crest—
I said, Not what I had in mind.
Not fancy enough for the queen?
he said, and he pulled out
a red and green quetzal.
That’s lovely! I cried,
but please, no more birds.
He twisted his arms like a pretzel.
Okay, he said, you are not
easy to please. How about
some Queen Anne’s Lace?
Though the blossom was fair,
it smelled terrible
and I made a sour face.
How about a queen bee
to make her honey
whenever she wants something sweet?
How does that work?
I asked the man,
he said, Watch her carefully.
Or would she perhaps like
quartz crystals—
how many would she need?
Or maybe a book
of clever quotes—
do you know what she likes to read?
My dear man, I said,
that’s it! You have shown me
the best way to make an impression—
not with something I’ve bought
but with curiousness.
I shall bring the queen a question.
How it Changes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alphabet menagerie, Lian Canty, love, parenting, poem, poetry on July 25, 2014| 1 Comment »
I may never travel to Neptune,
I’ll never eat a newt,
I’ll never ride a narwhal,
but I’ll always love you.
They say the North Star’s brightest,
they say nightingales sing best—
but to my ears and nose and eyes
you’re finer than the rest.
You’re more prized than the needlefish,
as elegant as a nautilus,
as cheerful as a nasturtium,
and lovelier than the narcissus.
I’d make you a nest of my love,
I’d draw you blank staves for your notes,
I’d spin you blue thread for your needle,
I’d carve you oars for your boat …
and I’ll nudge you from my nest
and push your boat out to the ocean—
I will always, always love you
though some ways are too sad to mention.
Eighteen Small Steps
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged path, poem, poetry, small steps on July 24, 2014| 1 Comment »
Those who would climb to a lofty height must go by steps, not leaps.
—St. Gregory the Great, from a letter to Augustine of Canterbury
teach me crosswise
streets, how to believe
all directions are possible
*
at my next shindig,
inviting happiness
and grief
for a
ménage a trios
*
she’s got everything she needs
ever since she made best friends
with nothing
*
sitting on the bench
I wonder if adventure forgot
to RSVP
or I forgot
to send the invitation
*
I would like
to want
to be at a shindig,
but dang, this couch
is so darn soft
*
forgive me
if I spray paint your thoughts—
I just knew a little bright orange
would do you
a heap of good
*
what’s up
with all those shenanigans?
well, she said,
you can’t just have one,
can you?
*
I asked the quince
about pleasure—it said baby,
time to get reckless
*
what is there
not to love
about grace?
the shaman says
now try loving fear
*
omphaloskepsis—
nice idea, but whoever
says all answers
come from within has never
seen your belly button
*
what’s a rain dance
except a snow dance
just a few adventures early?
*
I think the world
is addicted
to paradox—
I think I am
addicted to the world
*
the world gave me light,
I wanted shenanigans—
oh foolish woman,
now surrounded by shenanigans
all I want is light
*
every once in a while,
peace
but hey, world,
the rest of the time
let’s dance
*
it’s not that I forgot
to stand in the light
it’s just
that darkness
was holding my hand
*
indecision settled in
like a fog—every morning I practice
turning myself into a sun
*
will you like me better
if I cover myself in chocolate
said my sorrow
*
with authenticity
as my compass, every road
is the right road
Game On
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, love, personal responsibility, poem, poetry on July 20, 2014| 3 Comments »
I so wanted
for you to be
the one to bring
me love and
happiness, but
the world
could hardly
conceal its sparkle
when it slapped
my own hand
on my heart
and said tag,
you’re it.