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.
Archive for August, 2014
Well, Sometimes Just a Little White Out Might Be Nice
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emptiness, failure, poem, poetry on August 25, 2014| 1 Comment »
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.