the long bloom of my body
the long bloom of your body—
all night rearranging our stems
*
wondering why
the candle doesn’t give light—
never offering it flame
Archive for February, 2016
Two for Warmth
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, warmth on February 29, 2016| 1 Comment »
Two Invitations to Go Very Slow
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heron, patience, poem, poetry, slow on February 27, 2016| 2 Comments »
blue heron
in the tree top—
this quickening heart
*
I draw for myself
a new starting line—
on your open palm
Two Persistences
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged persistence, poem, poetry, surrender on February 27, 2016| 3 Comments »
all day
tugging on my sleeve—
this kiss
*
that inner monologue—
letting it sing
till it loses its voice
At First It Seemed Like a Problem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, problem, surrender, what does life want? on February 25, 2016| 3 Comments »
It was so lovely, the home
I built in the arroyo,
such smooth golden plaster
I worked with my hands,
such luster in the wood.
I had been told, of course,
about the chance of flood. Perhaps
some part of me felt relief
when the current finally came—
first a hum, then a roar,
then the splintering din,
and then only vehement rush.
What does the soul want, really,
but to join with the wild flood?
Regret can only tread for so long;
this now is what life wants.
An uprooted tree, a hand carved beam—
both serve as well for a float.
Now whatever the water says,
that is where I go.
Four Inconsistencies
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged contradiction, poem, poetry on February 24, 2016| 3 Comments »
this melancholy,
today it too seems
rose-hued
*
the bell in pieces—
learning to love
silence
*
at the same time
the seed reaches toward darkness
toward light
*
I throw my hunger
into the river, then, too alone,
jump in after it
Almost Sad in their Fantastic Costumes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged debussy, failure, moon, piano, poem, poetry, suite bergamasque on February 23, 2016| 1 Comment »
Votre âme est un paysage choisi / Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques / Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi / Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
—Paul Verlaine, “Claire de Lune”
I hate the way my fingers stumble
through the prelude—in my ear,
it is beautiful, the phrases open
and flowing, and I hum sincerely, as if
with song I could make my hands
more nimble. There are fields,
golden, inside the arpeggios,
and they part as if the wind has blown
a place for a path, and then
a thousand thousand birds
take flight just before night—
or at least that is what I
want to hear. But I am clumsy,
an oxen trampling in the field
who trips in every irrigation ditch.
I have read that by the time
the suite was published, Debussy
hated the sound of it, deplored
his earlier style. I try to imagine him
here in the living room, his thin moustache,
his thick black bangs, oh how
he would cringe, revile my lack
of sensitivity. And how I would hate
to disappoint him. Both of us
miserable, both of us abhorring
what we hear—I would stop playing,
I would, and walk over to him
as he scoffed, and I would say,
Look, look Claude,
how the moon is full, so large there
on the horizon. And we’d step
out onto the porch.
There would be no birds,
no wind to part the field,
and he would slip his hand
toward the moon, and say,
There, there, that is what I was trying to say.
And I would let my empty hands
play.
One Inexplicable
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blossoming, poem, poetry on February 22, 2016| 4 Comments »
Three Transpositions
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding, letting go, poem, poetry on February 21, 2016| 1 Comment »
is it one small child
or the whole world
I cradle
*
this longing
to bring you a small bouquet
of possibilities
*
my limbs a clef,
I circle the changing
song of you
Because
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged clouds, poem, poetry on February 18, 2016| 1 Comment »
Because the world is round, it turns me on.
—The Beatles, “Because”
impossibly lissome
the clouds this dawn
long drawn and wind-spun and pink—
all morning making love
to their memory
A Little Togetherness Means a Lot
Posted in Uncategorized on February 18, 2016| 7 Comments »
So exciting! My poem was chosen this month by Ruth Bavetta, the artist in Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, to go with her painting “Chronicle.” The poem, It Won’t Make the News, is posted today on Rattle … it was a curious painting to interpret, in fact, I’d be very interested to know what she thinks is happening.
Drosophila
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged adapatation, fruit fly, poem, poetry on February 17, 2016| 3 Comments »
All winter
the fruit flies
have survived
in our kitchen.
Whatever I know
of fruit flies suggests
they should not
have lived
through the cold.
They never have
made it to February before.
I find them in my wine glasses,
in my tea cups,
one a week or so.
I know that every
living thing is wired
to go on—some mysterious
drive in us says
Live, live. I have
felt it myself
when held too long underwater
or when lost in the woods.
Is this why
I do not try to kill them,
these fruit flies,
though I am repulsed
by their tiny insatiable hunger?
Their name means dew lover.
I, too, am hungry—
I, too, have learned
to adapt to cold.
To adjust is more
practical than to hope.
All winter, in my cups,
there’s a taste of dew,
of learning to thrive.
Original Sin
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, poem, poetry, relationship, unlearning on February 16, 2016| 2 Comments »
Tonight I will give you yourself.
All those pretty words you spun
into negligee, all those promises
you strung like pearls and then
tightened around my neck, all
those lovely leashes you made
out of praise, I give them back.
I have always loved being naked.
I think this is what you loved
most about me, too. Once. No one
is at fault for this strange game
of dress up we’ve been playing.
Perhaps it is what we were taught to do.
I unlearn this game. I want to give
you you. I give you your
own nakedness. Any robes
of hope I put on you, I untie
them. See them slip into soft piles
on the floor. Look at you now.
I see I never saw you before.
Out the window, winter is melting.
Everything loses its sheen.
I tried to hate you for the ways
you bound me, though the bounds
were beautiful. Now, all I can feel
is the thrill of this body so bare,
so new. I stare at my feet, my hands
and marvel at how they move.
Is this me? I never knew her.
I know her so intimately.
It is almost sweet now, so innocent,
how we tried to dress each other in dreams.
We didn’t know then that even
the softest words become chains.
I give you yourself, your longing
to be loved in the ways you thought
you needed. I give me myself,
I don’t know what that means,
already I am shedding.
One Missed Deadline
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged missed deadline, poem, poetry, time on February 16, 2016| 2 Comments »
I dangle my whole body
from the end of the minute hand
as it mounts its way
toward the hour,
no use,
it swings me into tomorrow
right on time.
One Definition of Faith
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged faith, love, poem, poetry, uncertainty on February 15, 2016| 1 Comment »
toeing the edge
of everything
we think we know
building a nest for us
on the other side
Happy Valentine’s Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, valentine's day on February 14, 2016| 2 Comments »
Here are three love poems to celebrate the day, posted today in Telluride Inside and Out. May you find love in every day, and if you can’t find it, may it find you.
One Valentine
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry on February 13, 2016| 1 Comment »
Calling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged courage, dream, poem, poetry, tiger, wildness on February 13, 2016| 4 Comments »
There are tigers in the forest.
I used to think I was tame. No one
knows why they are given
a certain task. My task
is to catch the tigers.
We keep each other strong.
My arms are bare. My head
is bare. We stay awake. We prowl.
*
A friend offers me a bit of something dead.
What is dead is dead, but still I try
to make of it something useful. I tie it
to a ribbon of blue and cast it into the forest.
The tigers do not care for beauty.
The tigers care nothing for what is dead.
It is me that they want.
I stay strong. The tigers stay strong.
*
I walk closer to the tigers
until we are face to face.
I have nothing to offer them
except for myself. This is all
we ever have to offer.
The tigers follow me now.
Once I thought I was hunter.
Now I see we are all each other’s prey.
*
There is a room with no windows,
a room with two hidden doors.
I lead the tigers here, though I
have never been here before.
The first door closes behind us
and as the tigers explore
I push on the weight of an inner wall
and slip through an inner door.
*
Anything tame is a lie.
It is only me that I want
and I will do even that
which I think is impossible.
I do not need a weapon.
I do not need a lure.
I am the wall that I slip through.
I am the hidden door.
Slowly, In Three
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anapest, daughter, generation, grandmother, legacy, memory, waltz on February 11, 2016| 3 Comments »
recite this aloud, please, for Mimi, for Vivi, for me
Mama, she says,
can we waltz?
and we do,
we step one
two, three, one,
two three cross-
ing the room,
and again
I am five
and my grand-
ma and I
are alone
in the house
and my feet
are on hers
and we’re danc-
ing around
and she hums
with the ra-
dio, hums
with low light,
and we waltz,
and we waltz
there’s a blaze
in her eyes
as we one,
two three, oh
how I miss
her tonight.
One
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged paradox, poem, poetry on February 10, 2016| 1 Comment »