Posted in Uncategorized, tagged augury, poem, poetry, sign on March 30, 2017| 1 Comment »
A purple crocus,
a hole in the clouds,
an empty lipstick case,
a pearl button,
scent of mint,
a left turn signal,
yellowed lace—
ask the world a question
and what can’t be seen
as a potential sign—
star-shaped balloon,
unbruised apple,
elk by the highway,
accidental rhyme.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, hiking, mountain, poem, poetry, snow on March 29, 2017| Leave a Comment »
After the first half mile
my shoes are soaked through
from post holing through knee deep snow.
There’s still a long way to go,
and the hike is for pleasure, after all,
so I decide it’s not so bad,
the squish of my socks,
the chill seeping in.
It’s just another way to remember
I’m alive, and though it’s slippery
and slushy, the trail,
and though I’m less nimble
than I’d wish to be,
look at that blue, blue sky,
and oh, my long shadow,
see how eagerly it leans to the east.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Clea Willow, hands, heart, love, parking meter, poem, poetry on March 28, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Imagine that your hands are an extension of your heart. Because they are.
—Clea Willow, yoga instructor
While slipping coins into the meter
I remind my hands they are doing
the work of the heart. They fumble
to find another quarter in my coin purse,
then drop it on the sidewalk
where it shines against the gray.
Isn’t that just like the heart, I think,
to bumble even the simplest of routines.
It could be so easy to search for, hold closely,
and let go at just the right time.
Come on hands, I tell them, do what
what the heart must do. Reach.
Recover. Try again.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged memory, poem, poetry on March 27, 2017| 3 Comments »
like a book
that always falls open
to my favorite lines—
this memory of your crooked smile,
your open hand
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged April Fools, Book Bar, Jane Hilberry, Jessy Randall, poetry reading, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on March 27, 2017| 2 Comments »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, great blue heron, poem, poetry, practice on March 26, 2017| 2 Comments »
Remember, says my friend, to look
for beauty every day. And immediately
I think of the blue heron I saw this afternoon
as it flew upriver, its elegant neck tucked
into its body in flight, its deep, slow wing beats
guiding it through the curves of the wide canyon.
In my chest, I felt it, the rising urge to fly,
the pulsing, the thrill of blue heron.
In that instant, I did not wonder
if a moment of beauty is enough
to sustain us through difficult times.
I knew only that I had to remind my eyes
to watch the highway instead of following
the great blue weight as it wove
through the empty cottonwood tops,
its silhouette charged with improbable grace,
its long legs dangling behind,
a reminder we all must land sometime.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emergence, forgetting, poem, poetry, remembering, spring on March 26, 2017| 2 Comments »
In the bottom of my bottom drawer,
my swimming suit hides beneath t-shirts
and mini skirts, all of them wrinkled.
The bikini top strings are untied—
they snake around the dark space
like the sprouted eyes of potatoes.
All this waiting. Somewhere there is light.
The shape of the suit remembers
what it is like to hold things in
and keep things up. It remembers
the way the ocean waves tugged at its knots,
the gritty insistence of sand.
Outside, it is snowing again—
snow on the buds of the lilac tree,
snow on the first green of parsley.
Inside, there is this woman
who has stuffed things into dark corners.
I have nearly forgotten what it is
to be warm, warm enough
to wear next to nothing, warm enough
not to cover my heart with layer
after heavy layer. I am learning
how what is forgotten doesn’t really
go away. The shape of me
remembers how to pull my arms
through the water, how to tread
to stay on top. Outside, the sound
of the plow scrapes past. I am wondering
what else might be in that bottom drawer.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, community, poem, poetry, rainbow, timing on March 25, 2017| 1 Comment »
Come quick, said the math teacher,
grabbing me and my daughter by the hand
and rushing us past the school’s edifice
where he pointed east at rainbow
made of ice crystals hung in the air—
an ice rainbow! he exclaimed—
and we applauded with our eyes
until all three of us ran back into the shadows
to pull others to street corner,
sharing in the thrill that we did not
arrive too early, too late,
our breath coming out in misty curls,
silent, visible prayers.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged failure, Joi Sharp, poem, poetry, transformation on March 24, 2017| 4 Comments »
This is the path of failure. We see that our definition of success is what is not working. What is working is deep, unseen. —Joi Sharp
Even a small discontent is enough to shut us down,
convince us that the world is cold and indifferent.
Everywhere there’s evidence of this: The slush
that falls on your car seat when you open the car door.
The carrion eaters with their great black wings
that linger beside the road. You pray for sun,
and it gets darker. Someone asks
you a question, and you see your whole life
fold into one small envelope of failure.
Then one day you hit against the same
impassable wall you always hit and this time you fall
to your knees, not because you are weak,
but because at last you are ready to be opened.
Oh sweet failure, how it leads us.
Any unhappy ending is only an invitation
to crawl into the blank pages
of the next unwritten chapter.
It was never success that transformed us—
always the breaking. Not the breaking itself,
but the mystery inside pushing through us
like bindweed through pavement
making cracks in everything
we think we know so that the world
can come streaming in.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged angel, apple, fall, poem, poetry on March 22, 2017| 2 Comments »
Of course the angels fall—
perhaps when leaning in closer
to hear our whispers
or when trying to keep up with us
as we dance—
perhaps because they wish
in that moment for bodies such as ours,
bodies so full of hope and passion,
so alive with risk and rush,
that they trip on their hems
and forget for a moment
they have wings, forget for a moment
they’re supposed to be guarding us,
preferring to watch as we fall, too,
all of us ripe, sweet apples.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emergency, hope, moon, poem, poetry on March 21, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desperation, hope, lemon, poem, poetry on March 19, 2017| 2 Comments »
But darn if that scent of lemon
isn’t just so yellow, and though
I meant to write about the squeeze
of fear, there’s that bright perfume
on my fingertips and all I can think
is how full of sunshine it is, that scent,
though the room is dark,
though the last thing I thought
I could write about tonight
was hope.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged journey, love, poem, poetry, river on March 18, 2017| Leave a Comment »
I’ve got a wide, a wide river to cross.
—“Wide River to Cross” by Julie Miller, Steven P. Miller
Perhaps when the river
we must cross is so wide
and the journey
to just to get to the river is so long
that our legs and arms are weary
before we even reach the shore,
perhaps that is when
it helps to remember
that the heart is infinite
in how much it can love,
and dang if that journey
across the river
doesn’t seem all that far
after all and the body
shudders and trembles
finds a way to take
one more step, and
one more step.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged home, poem, poetry, self, tree on March 17, 2017| Leave a Comment »
When climbing the inner branches
of the largest spruce we can find,
and finding the prickly lattice
an easier ladder than we imagined,
we might climb high enough
that we forget if we are climbing
to get away from or to move toward,
might climb long enough
that at last it is neither tree
nor land nor sky that feels
like home, but our own
limbs as they find the next place
to step, to pull up, to rest.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anger, poem, poetry on March 16, 2017| 1 Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, love, poem, poetry on March 15, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Standing on the stoop of your heart,
hand poised above the doorbell,
hoping you’ll open the door,
hoping you’ll keep it open.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Bedrock, joy, poem, poetry, song on March 15, 2017| 2 Comments »
Driving through Bedrock,
population 14, I remember
sitting on the stoop of the general store
and asking Rose to come out from behind the counter
and sing me a song about sorrow.
Crazy how a sad song could make me
so happy. Crazy how every time I drive by
I still smile to think of her voice,
soaring as the red rock cliffs,
haunting as the windows shuttered and dark.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, spring on March 13, 2017| 2 Comments »
after Octavio Paz
under the tired veils of leaves,
under the indifferent rocks,
under the brown needles,
that were once evergreen
under the pinecones dropped
like old conversations,
under the broken sticks,
under the matted exhaustion of grass
comes the tender new green of spring clover,
thrusting through all that was frozen.
