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Archive for July, 2016

Radical Abundance

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 22, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

Every branch

of the raspberry bush bows

with the weight of sweetness

and our busy hands

pull the ripe berries

to our mouths.

It is a long time

before we remember

we have bowls,

we have tomorrow.

 

 

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One in the Roar of the Box Canyon

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 22, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

beside the waterfall—

this wish to applaud married to

this wish to be very quiet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Practice

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 22, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

All week it’s been rising,

this longing to fix the places

in me that feel broken—

and then your letter arrives,

a celebration of brokenness,

and I become one of those Japanese pots

in which every crack is repaired

with fine gold.

Sometimes it happens,

we hold for each other

a generous mirror,

and though nothing has changed,

nothing’s the same,

even our fear turns to shine.

 

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One Stretch

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 22, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

it is not the shadows

that shape us, but the reaching

toward the light

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Over and Over and Over

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 17, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

all day a song

insists on itself

like a lover who tugs and flirts

at the hem of a dress—

I let it have its way

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This Night is Such a Night

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 16, 2016| 3 Comments »

 

 

 

While the onions and celery forget themselves

in the butter and low heat, I walk to the garden

and gather spinach. It’s nearly time to pull the row—

the plants have begun to yellow and bolt—

but there remain enough dark green leaves

for a pot of fresh cream of spinach soup.

The evening is warm, and swallows dart and swoop

through the air. A haze drapes the midsummer sky.

For a moment I forget there is dinner

to make, a burner inside that will not wait.

For a moment my heart is as open

as the first calendula bloom in the garden,

all its many petals peeled back. It’s now I notice

I’ve been living only half open. Sometimes

we unfold just long enough that the world

can rush in and shake us awake

before we bend back in to our daily lists.

The soup has never been so deep green,

so rich. The night has never smelled so good.

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One After Terrible News

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 15, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

despite everything,

today, daisies in white bloom,

scent of mint, of bread

 

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After Hearing the News About Nice

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 14, 2016| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Unable to undo or reverse the destruction,

I focus on the children I’m charged with.

Hey kids, I say, come sit with me.

I cannot hide that I have been weeping.

They have been fighting, all morning,

as children will, calling each other names

such as “stupid” and “jerk.”

They’ve been refusing to share,

asserting how right they are.

It starts here, I say. Peace begins with the way

that we treat our family and friends.

They are embarrassed by my tears.

My daughter sits on my lap, but looks away.

Stop it, Mom, she says. She slouches

and curls her thin back into my belly.

My son says nothing, then belches

to lighten the mood. I am too sincere.

I almost wish to laugh at myself,

to laugh at him, but instead,

I feel the warm weight of new tears

as they gather before they fall.

The boy beside me, their friend,

takes a big breath, then nods.

I know what you mean, he says.

One of them could have the hand

that pulls the trigger, I think.

One of them could feel righteous

enough to drive a truck into a crowd.

One of them might find the words

I cannot find, the ones that could change

someone else’s set mind,

the words that might turn us toward peace.

 

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Mine Tour

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 14, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

We sat in the stope, a small room

chiseled and blasted into the stone

1,800 feet below the surface.

Imagine, he says, it is 1899.

First the guide turned out the light.

Then he blew out the candles.

As we sat in the dark, he told us

that only those with a good memory

of how they got in here

would make it back out alive.

Then he turned back on the light.

 

Sometimes in a darkness,

we feel ourselves trapped,

find ourselves unable

to grope our way back

to some beginning.

In our attempts to emerge

we become increasingly lost.

 

Sometimes in a darkness,

we come to believe it will always

be dark. How could we know

to hope that by some strange

luck or chance or change

a light might appear

so bright that we would never

again lose our way?

 

 

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Ursa Major

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 13, 2016| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

Like the bear in the darkness

scavenging the campground

for chocolate bars,

I, too, long for sweetness.

It keeps me awake,

my hunger. I lumber

through these summer nights,

hunting, my senses alive.

Don’t let morning come soon.

I swear there’s a hint

of sweetness here somewhere.

 

 

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