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Archive for June, 2016

Malfunction

 

 

 

It didn’t snap,

the trap, when the vole

ran across it—I watched

from my kitchen window

as the fat gray body

emerged from the grass

and traipsed across the waiting trap

before it looped through the pansies

and returned to the lawn.

And I, who set the trap

with Adam’s Smooth Peanut Butter,

laughed with strange delight

in my failure to kill

that damn little kale eating vole.

What is it in us that learns to relax?

The tips of lawn grass trembled

as the vole ran its path back to the field,

oblivious to my scheming.

It knew only that the mint overtaking

the pansies was delicious,

so green, so fresh.

 

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radio off

I turn up the dial on the heart—

what’s this song I’ve never heard?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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with every step

losing the need to struggle to say

what can’t be said

 

*

 

carving away

the women I’ve been until the only one left

is the one walking

 

 

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And if you are lucky, you might stand

in the place where the horses were loaded

before they were led to look for gold, for silver.

There are journeys you, too, wish to take,

though you know now that the journeys

you long for the most are often made

by pledging yourself to a place.

The old stone walls were built with flow in mind.

Even now, they keep nothing out—not the sunlight,

not the wind, not the curve of your imagination.

And every window is an invitation

to see the same beauty framed a new way.

What might be possible here? No way to pretend

to predict the infinite. Still, this chance

to show up, to serve our own passion

in a toast to potential, and to be humbled

by our own hearts so eager to be opened.

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One Beside the Trap

 

 

 

so shiny and bright

this beetle feasting on death

black jewels, its wings

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Midsummer

 

 

 

I pour the hot water

into the sugar that waits

inside the mason jar.

 

Here I am in the kitchen

longing to be

of use in the world.

 

Outside the window,

the broad tailed hummingbirds

swarm the near-empty feeder.

 

They will find, I know,

some other sweetness

if I do not make the nectar.

 

I long to believe

one small act of devotion

might ripple out

 

and affect the world

as profoundly as an act

of hate, but I do not believe it.

 

Still, I stir. The contents

of the jar change

from solid to cloudy to clear.

 

Outside, the blur

of hunger, the whirring

of dark green wings.

 

 

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Big Escape

 

 

I thought if I made myself small enough

I could fit inside the box labeled happiness,

and I folded my dreams into neat little squares

and kept them on a shelf labeled later.

But life leaks.

Happiness knows no box.

And who is this woman unfolding the dreams,

wrapping them into blue turbans, green capes,

and magic carpets of every hue flying out of the box.

Where is she going?

Dang, she looks familiar.

 

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At the Edge of July

 

 

 

Summer, what could you say to this body,

this body nearing its autumn?

What could your flowers teach this heart

about blooming despite heat, despite drought?

What could your shortening days tell this woman

about opening to light?

Summer, I think I know too much.

Teach me warm. Teach me thunderstorm.

Teach me how to be green, and then greener.

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and brings the big world in with her—

contagious and boisterous laughter

deep enough to splash in, the scent

of lilac trees and fresh cut grass

and brandy with ginger ale and lemon.

Whole fields of wild iris. Left turns.

She unpacks her suitcase and rapturous dances

leap out and whirl around the room.

Miles of highway unribbon around the kitchen—

there is plenty of room in her home

for the skyscrapers, the great divides,

her own enormous beating heart.

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That bed looks so great.

There is nothing right now

she needs to do but slip

between those soft blue sheets

and close her eyes.

She has no words that must be written,

no lessons to plan, no bills to pay,

no conversations to have.

She is tired, and she deserves to sleep

right now. She doesn’t worry for an instant

that there will be consequences.

She looks out the window

at the light across the street,

sees the silhouette of the woman

who lives there as she

fusses and rushes and hunches over her desk.

What could be more important

than dreams. Whatever needs be done,

tomorrow is soon enough.

 

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