On a day when the desert potholes
are full of pollywogs and tiny
red-speckled frogs and the blue sky
is dappled with pink-bellied clouds,
and the San Juan is running muddy
and warm, well, you don’t have to have almost just died
to realize how lucky you are to be alive—
nope, it just comes natural, this wanting
to kiss your children, even though
they are whining all day about how
the desert is just full of rocks
and it’s so boring. Yeah, it just kind of happens,
this flash flood of gratitude, this falling in love
with everything dust can do.
Archive for August, 2014
Such a Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, falling in love with the world, gratitude, poem, poetry on August 31, 2014| 1 Comment »
Gas Station Eucharist
Posted in Uncategorized on August 30, 2014| 5 Comments »
Not at all like the body and blood
of Christ, this Diet Pepsi and bag
of Barbara’s Jalapeño Cheese Puffs,
but I take it in, feeling blessed
despite the fact that I have seen
what cola will do to an engine.
Perhaps that is what I am hoping
for—the kind of god that will
scour me at the same time
as I lick my fingers and hunger
for more.
In the Garden
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, green beans, poem, poetry, slow food on August 29, 2014| 1 Comment »
What a gift
to kneel
in the dirt
and search
beneath
the heart-shaped leaves
for the long
and slender green
of beans,
marveling
at how straight
they are, how
green, marveling
as if
the way
they grow
could not only
feed us
but save us.
It’s Only When You Ignore them that they Start to Gain Control
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, poem, poetry, running, voices on August 28, 2014| 2 Comments »
If you must know, I was scared,
running above tree line in a snowstorm,
unable to see more than twenty feet in front
of my slipping feet. And no one else around.
So why did I keep running? Was it courage?
Determination? Stubborn foolishness?
When the story ends happily ever after,
it is easy to forget there was another possible ending,
but sometimes these alternate worlds
invite themselves into our thoughts,
strange tides of what if? and what then?
Though they are unpleasant, I welcome them.
Why not? I am safe, and they are like
the mean girls, the ones who say the cruelest things,
but because there is no truth in what they say,
it’s not so hard to just nod my head and smile.
This Morning
Posted in Uncategorized on August 27, 2014| Leave a Comment »
watching the cloud
at the base of the mountain
fill with light
when I look away
eleven years have passed
Canticle
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emptiness, poem, poetry, save on August 26, 2014| 4 Comments »
It’s always something else
we wish would save us—
the right words, for instance,
especially spoken on the right lips.
Or perhaps the temporary shine
inside the generous glass of wine.
And if not that, then friendship.
Or an altar. The sun or a song or a kiss.
But somehow in our hearts
there is always an empty chair,
some sense that someone or something
else is supposed to be here,
even if the room is light. Even when
the rightest words are found.
Even if the wine tastes of melon and grass.
Oh that emptiness. That emptiness
is a chance to ask ourselves, really ask,
who is the one who thinks she needs
to be saved? Sometimes I watch her
slip right through the cracks.
She takes her cross with her,
her books, her prayer mat,
her musts, her beads, her shame,
and what remains is everything.
Making Peace with the Darkness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, fear, poem, poetry on August 25, 2014| 4 Comments »
You need not fear the night, my child.
Evening comes to everything.
It finds the raspberries by the road,
it finds the rabbit in her hole.
It finds the river and all its swells.
The evening comes to everything.
As silently as the rainbow bends
the evening comes to everything.
And the roadrunner stops his running
and the honey bees stop their buzzing
and the rattlesnakes stop their sunning
as the evening comes to everything.
As dark and graceful as raven’s wings,
the evening comes to everything.
Even the raindrops as they are falling,
and the Rosa woodsii as it’s blooming
and the wily raccoon who goes exploring,
yes, the evening comes to everything.
I used to fear the darkness, too,
and prayed all night for morning.
But feel how evening holds the world—
the animals, the boys, the girls,
the moms, the dads, the plants, the birds,
it holds us together, our differences blur—
oh, evening come to everything.
*An R poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie
I’ve Got Tomato Stains on my Pants to Prove It
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blank verse, lie, poem, poetry, tall tale, truth on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
I know you’re kinda mad I’m late. I’m sorry,
but you see there was this tiger trapped
up high inside a tree who offered me
a cherry tart if only I would help
him down. What could I do? It just did not
seem right to leave him stranded there. And so
I asked a large tarantula to weave
a silken net to catch the tiger when
he leapt. Well, she was tired from having laid
nine hundred eggs the day before, but when
she heard about the tart, she said she’d try.
A tern and toucan flying by said they
would help me hold the net to catch the tiger
when she leapt. What luck! I didn’t know
they lived around here. Anyway, a toad
in a tiara started teasing them.
He said our plan would never work, that birds
would not be strong enough to catch a tiger.
That’s when the triceratops came rambling
by and said he’d help us, too. But he
began to sneeze, his allergies were acting
up, perhaps it was the tulips? Or
the toadstool? I don’t know. The bummer was
he sneezed so much he had to go. The toucan
and the tern, offended by the toad,
flew off. They said, “A tart is not enough
for this abuse!” So there I sat beneath
the tiger, not sure what to do. That’s when
a turtle sat beside me and suggested
we could use his thimble as a diving
pool. The tiger had his doubts until
he saw a trout tail swish inside the thimble.
And he dove! And landed with a splash!
And came up with the trout between his teeth!
The bad news is he left the tart up in
the tree. And then the grumpy toad began
to throw tomatoes at the turtle. And
at me! And so I ran the whole way home.
I don’t know where the tiger’s gone—he mentioned
wanting to audition for a band.
He said he plays the triangle. It’s weird,
I know. So weird I worried that you’d not
believe me. I thought maybe I should lie
and tell you that I’m late because I didn’t
want to leave my friend’s house in the middle
of our game. But lying is so rude.
I knew that you’d appreciate the truth.
*This is a T poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie, http://www.alphabetmenagerie.com
On Immersion
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, poem, poetry, to do list on August 25, 2014| 1 Comment »
Sometimes it happens this way,
that the sunflowers all petal out
before the night of the first frost,
and you, though of course you have
endless things to do, find yourself
ambushed by golden lucence
and stand there astonished, baptized
by beauty. It happens. Sometimes
it happens this way. Sometimes
you get the whole list crossed through,
all those black lines streaking the page,
like flowerless stems. It happens.
That, too, is a beautiful site,
but not at all the same.
Well, Sometimes Just a Little White Out Might Be Nice
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emptiness, failure, poem, poetry on August 25, 2014| 1 Comment »
I used to have it, the longing
to be cleaned out, to become
like the school room before
the students arrive on the first day
of school—the desks polished,
the dry erase board perfectly white,
no un-erasable traces of old problems
and schedules and conjugations.
I longed to be even cleaner than that—
to be emptied. To be like the room
without furniture. Or perhaps even
to be like the vacant lot after
the building had been torn down.
Call it a second chance. Or a third.
A clean slate. We have so many ways
to speak of starting over. And of course
I believed I’d do it all better this time.
And then one day I stopped believing
in the sanctity of the eraser. What
great teachers, all these perfect failures.
One day I could feel it, how
the life I wanted to live was nowhere
near as beautiful, as full, as rich
the life that wants to live me.
But I’m Tired
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged exhaustion, poem, poetry, tired on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
If I weren’t so tired, I’d get out there in that garden
and grow some green beans, stringless and tender
and fleshy. I’d grow some grapes, then peel them
and pass them out to all my friends.
If I weren’t so tired, I’d plant some garlic for my mom.
I’d bake gingerbread men. Houses, too.
And then I would scamper up a mountain
the way goats do, and I’d do all that before noon.
If I weren’t so tired, I’d introduce a goldfish
to a gorilla, and then write a play based on
what they’d say to each other. I’d laminate maps
for migrating geese they could wear around their necks.
Yeah, I think I’d go to the tropics and pick up
all the old tails that geckos had lost and return them
to their owners. And I’d make special pillows
for baby giraffes to land on when they’re born.
So much to do, I’ve got grasshopper mind, jumping
and leaping all the time—from how I might help
the glaciers grow to how I might make the galaxy go
just a little bit slower so that there’s more time
for us all to sleep so we’re not always too tired
to do all the things we want to do. Like grow
some grapes, and peel them, too, then offer them
to good friends like you. Or just wash the dishes,
Or get dressed, make the bed. I would, you know, if …
*This is a G-poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie, http://www.alphabetmenagerie.com
Letter to Fear
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fear, poem, poetry on August 25, 2014| 1 Comment »
Dear Fear, father of worry and terror, panic and dread,
there are surely more species of you than
there are of the widespread orchid.
You are equally at home in the swamp
or the field, in the aisles of the store or under the bed.
I have seen your tracks everywhere I’ve ever been.
Like the ocelot, you come out in darkness,
ready to fight, to mark what is yours. Like the owl,
you are silent, you thrive on surprise.
You camouflage yourself as an octopus does,
changing the color and feel of your skin.
And then when I have forgotten you,
you slip into the pool of my thoughts
like an otter—ready to play again.
Sometimes you arrive like an orb—
sure I can say you don’t exist, but there you are.
Is it true, what they say about you?
That you kick harder than the ostrich,
run faster, too, and enjoy asking people
to race? Fear, I don’t want to race with you.
And I know you won’t just go away.
I’ve noticed you stay with me when I’m up all night,
I’ve felt you there when things don’t seem right,
almost like a father, like a friend.
*This is the O poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie, http://www.alphabetmenagerie.com
While Walking in From the Car
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged miracle, opening, poem, poetry, uncertainty, universe on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
Not even a gust
tonight
and for no
apparent reason
the heart
blows open
and just
like that
innumerable stars
rush in
not to mention
all the space
between them
of course it’s
miraculous,
and on the other,
well, after marveling
there’s nothing to do
but invite the universe
in for a cup
of decaf chai
then tuck us
all in
for a good night’s
rest
who knows
what could happen
tomorrow.
A Little Lesson in Comparisons:
Posted in Uncategorized on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
Can you say yes to the world as it is?
—Joi Sharp
Closer, said the nose to the peony.
Sweeter, said the farmer to the ripening peach.
Colder, said the puffin to the atmosphere.
Slower, said the ’possums to anyone who’d hear.
Faster, said the python to his coils after the strike.
Try peaches, said the plum to the teeth before the bite.
Softer, said the porcupine who wanted to be held.
Louder, said the pony to his tiny silver bells.
Creamier, said the peanut on the railroad track.
Redder, said the pear to its blushing back.
Whiter, said the parsnip to the beet and carrot.
Finer, bragged the peacock to the brightly feathered parrot.
Longer, said the child when the story stopped.
Longer, said the mother to the hours on the clock.
All of them wishing the world were different—
but as any wisher knows, it is not.
*This is the P poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie
Forgetting Everything Else
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, poem, poetry on August 15, 2014| 2 Comments »
All day we moved
from awe to awe,
from kiss to kiss,
from tenderness
to tenderness,
from dirt road
to bright field
to deep green grass
in sweet
astonishment
some days
are like this.
Truth and Dare
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged answer, blank verse, dare, poem, poetry, question on August 15, 2014| 4 Comments »
a D-poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie
I dare you on an early springtime morn
to ask the daffodil what it remembers
of December. Ask the dragonfly
what it was like to live before the age
of dinosaurs. Go ask the dandelion
how it feels to be despised, and what
it’s like to lose your seeds like wishes—every
single one. Then ask the deer about
the reasons it wore spots when it was young.
The dogwood, ask its blossoms about frost.
The donut, ask it what it knows of holes.
The drum, invite it in for tea to tell
you of the skin it wears and other lives
it’s breathed. Then ask the duck if it recalls
the time the young swan came to live amongst
the ducklings. There is always something more
to every story than we see, yes, something
more than this and that, a hidden door
through which truths pass as silently as lies—
though sometimes truths bounce back like echoes. Ask
the dolphins how that works, how if you sing
the world sings back to you. I dare you, sing
your questions to the world. Perhaps you’ll hear
whatever answers you had wanted, but
more likely you’ll hear answers that will make
your heart break open wider than before—
those are the answers I am hoping for.
Self Portrait Written in a Plain Gray Dress
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, self-sabotage on August 13, 2014| 3 Comments »
You’ve found me out.
Inside my closet
on the top shelf
pushed behind
the scarves and old
prescriptions and
forgotten purses
is a plastic grocery bag
filled with orange feathers
that I have worn once—
it is not that I have said
Never again,
it is only that I
have some dream
of a day not at all
like today when
it feels so totally
right to perch
at the edge of my door
all feathered and
bright, not caring
if I lose a few feathers,
not concerned
at all if mid-song I fly
or fall.
From Below
Posted in Uncategorized on August 12, 2014| 1 Comment »
The room is loud
and still you yell
above the din
to the man walking
on the bridge above you.
Of course he does not
hear you, and after
screwing up your face
in frustration you
start to laugh.
Of course your words
get lost. They are just
more noise, and you
are just one more
noisemaker. Your
laughter adds
to the ruckus,
and you don’t care one bit
that no one hears.