My son builds a castle out of candy—
boxes of Nerds on the bottom, stacked with
boxes of Sugar Babies, Milk Duds and Dots.
Kit Kats and Double Bubbles balance on top.
We make a Twix moat and cannons out of
Tootsie Rolls, sentries made of Sugar Daddies
and a forest of lollipops. And then come
the bombs. First the sour gumballs, but
their damage is negligent. Next
the larger Tootsie Rolls, but the castle
still stands. Finally we bring in the Blow Pop
and threaten to drop it. The Sugar Babies
Sour Patch Kids cry for mercy, but it is too late.
The sugar bomb drops and the castle crashes
and we roll on the floor laughing, holding our bellies,
laugh because after all it is only candy
and we are about to build the castle again
and tonight the sky above us is quiet and clear.
Though he does not know it, I’m well aware
that these playful hours are already under siege
and all too soon will come crashing down.
How I hope in its rubble this laughter survives.
Archive for October, 2014
After Coming Home from Trick or Treating, the Black Ninja and the Sock Monkey Get Busy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged candy, halloween, parenting, poem, poetry on October 31, 2014| 1 Comment »
Five Haikulings Inspired by Rumi in the Divan
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry on October 30, 2014| 1 Comment »
IX
Love shipwrecked my body—
no longer any way to pretend
I am separate from the sea
*
XI
think of the Beloved
and light waxes in the eye—
a spark beside a sun
*
XII.
this bottomless spring
never runs dry, why stand there
with an empty cup?
*
out of this dust pit
evolved your perfect hands, lips—
next stop: angel
*
you are the one drop
that, when added to the sea
becomes the whole sea
I Could Not Have Imagined It This Way
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, marriage, poem, poetry on October 29, 2014| 1 Comment »
All those plans we had for what we thought
love was supposed to be—all those directions
that someone else wrote that we followed step by step,
all those destinations we knew we just had to reach,
all those trails and roads and paths,
they were all dead ends.
It was innocent enough. Still, when standing at the edge
of a cliff that was supposed to be happily ever after, it is hard
to not want to blame someone.
And after the days of vertigo, and after the nights
of told-you-so and after the years of why and how
and taking an eraser to all the plans,
and after the shedding and after the seeking
and after we stopped believing in believing,
and after the masks fell off and our hands were emptied
love showed up right here, growing like a volunteer seed.
Who could say what it is, what it will become?
So we nourish it together, marveling as it grows into itself.
One Hint About Buoyancy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged buoyancy, letting go, poem, poetry on October 28, 2014| 1 Comment »
just before I drown
I remember all those beautiful rocks
I put in my pockets
After Reading Space.com, I Can’t See the Day the Same
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark matter, light, poem, poetry on October 27, 2014| 1 Comment »
We may turn and turn again toward the light, but the darkness
passes through us. Earth, they say, and everything on it,
is hurtling (even now as you read this), through a sea
of dark matter, dense and deep, and every second
our bodies are rushed by billions of dark matter particles.
They rush through the jaguar as he stalks and springs.
They rush through us as we eat jellybeans. They rush
through the June bug nibbling on leaves. They rush
through the migrating juncos. The dark, though we
cannot see it nor feel it, it moves through our hands, our spleens,
our teeth. It rushes through ticks on the backs of jackrabbits.
It rushes through jellyfish deep in the sea. It rushes
through jars and cars and clouds. It rushes through jasmine vines,
mountains and trees. The dark matter, it does not rest in us
long enough to make of our bodies a home. But the rush of dark matter
never ends, it’s an infinite stream. It passes through us
as we eat jalapeños or sleep in hammocks or play jacks with our kids.
It matters not, desert, city or jungle. The dark
does not care one whit where we live. Even in daylight,
even by candlelight, even by starlight or campfire glow,
the dark, it passes through us. And sometimes its particles collide
with our atoms. Though we never feel it at all—it’s a mystery,
a secret we’ve yet to decode, a gravity that rules us. Imagine,
the most light we’ve ever known was rushed by dark matter through
and through. Even if you turn toward light, the dark runs through you.
The Doer Attempts to Meditate
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged doing, meditation, poem, poetry, silence on October 27, 2014| 3 Comments »
Not running, not humming, not
flying a kite, not rowing,
not kissing, not kneading soft dough,
not sipping mint tea, not shoveling sand,
not raking, not lifting, not opening doors,
not thinking of you except when I do
to say to myself to stop thinking of you,
not writing a grant, not washing
the floor, and meanwhile the silence
is silent beneath all my nattering
chatter and for an instant between
the not folding, not driving,
not typing, not weeding
the infinite nothing of silence
not changing, not able to be told.
Yet Another Story Problem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged humanness, longing, math, poem, poetry, solution, story problem on October 25, 2014| 3 Comments »
It always seems as if it should add up,
except it doesn’t. Not like the story problems
did in school. No. In this equation, x
represents the rate at which sweet peas
climb an orchard’s wire fence, and y
is the speed that snowflakes fall without
accounting for wind. And z is the reason
that all those snowflakes never seem to find
your waiting tongue. Don’t take it personally. It’s statistics.
Then s is the way that the low light at sunrise
makes every other variable shine. Which changes
everything. Until f is the sloth-like velocity
of a deeply held sorrow just starting to mend. And g
is the relative effect of one extended open hand.
And h is a pair of seahorses with their tails
intertwined. Or maybe it’s a flock of seagulls
returning to the land. Or maybe it’s crazy
to try to assign meaning to any of this.
It seems obvious. The heart just wants to love.
But then y is the hole the size of Saturn that
you sometimes feel ringing inside your gut.
And g is the swan-like gracefulness
you thought you’d have once you grew up.
But d is the way you are more like a squirrel.
And j is the value of a sand dollar saved
for twenty years. And p is the sweet scent
of strawberries, ripe. And k is the surfboard
you never bought. And o is the way you often feel
like a sidewinder—edging slyly, slantly along.
You dream of straight lines, of answers that work out
neatly, efficiently, sure of themselves. But already,
x is a starfish, and y is just a homophone, and t is
the way you see yourself sometimes, scribbling away
as if it’s all some kind of test. And s is the sweet compassion
you offer yourself, even now as you watch yourself draw up
a new proof, determined to solve it right this time.
Two Beside the Fish Pond
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heron, poem, poetry, shadow on October 24, 2014| 2 Comments »
the more still the blue
heron sits on his rock the more
my thoughts grow wings
*
such a fleeting
darkening on my face—
the shade of herons
Doesn’t Mean You Have to Like It, But
Posted in Uncategorized on October 23, 2014| 1 Comment »
that stumbling block,
the one you keep tripping on,
it is only doing it’s job—
I can’t tell you what that job is,
but every time you stumble, you find out
The Long Marriage
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark, light, love, marriage, poem, poetry on October 22, 2014| 2 Comments »
If the night were not dark enough,
not dark enough and too short,
then we perhaps would not
have had the patience to find again
in each other the light,
a tiny light, but still light enough,
enough to draw us close again—
that small light in the other
the only light that can lead us home.