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Archive for December, 2015

One Thing Love Never Says

 

 

 

sure, all the freedom

you want, darling, here

at the end of this leash

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Four Encounters

 

 

 

speaking to your heart

my eyes, two trembling pilgrims,

take off their shoes

 

*

 

evening delivers

this quiet invitation—

begin again

 

 

*

 

though I closed the door

the world enters

through the keyhole

 

*

 

at my table

serving wine

to the empty seats

 

 

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One Side

 

 

 

the warrior in me

traded in her weapon for seeds

still a warrior

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One Night Away

 

 

 

cold sheets—

all night my hands reach

to where you are not

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Cut Deep

 

 

 

Picking up broken glass

with bare hands,

of course I was cut,

but something in me

was curious to learn

the secrets of being sharp.

Something in me

wanted another reason

to be tender

with everyone I meet.

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The Meeting

 

 

 

Shoveling pond ice,

I find an enormous beetle

on its back, frozen. I can’t help

but stare for several minutes.

Its black eyes are still intact,

though dim, its six legs

almost daintily bent.

There is so much

I have not noticed before.

What a gift every smallest

symposium —nothing too

slight to invite our curiosity,

our wonder, our sense

that we are part of a much,

much larger conversation—

it makes it harder

to feel lonely.

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Dawn

 

 

 

looking at your face

I see you twenty years ago—

I tell you I love you

in the voice of that

younger woman

who’s taken to wearing

wrinkles, wearing gray

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Gift

 

with thanks to Rebecca Mullen

 

 

Here, she said, her pockets

stuffed with forgiveness,

borrow some of mine.

I take it between my fingers

like a coin and hold it up

to see how it shines,

but I hide it quick,

almost embarrassed

to be seen with it.

All day, I touch my pocket

to be sure it’s still there.

All day, I dream of ways

to spend it.

 

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Two Realizings

 

with gratitude to Rachel Kellum

 

 

holding out the olive branch,

surprised to see the end’s

been set on fire—

oh foolish woman who hesitates

to drop it before she is burned

 

*

 

olive tree,

may you grow many branches,

may I prune you often

but not to the point of risking the roots—

for now, here is water, time

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One Voice in the Car

 

 

 

 

no darling, it’s not

that all roads lead homeward,

it’s that they are home

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