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Archive for March, 2017

One Emergence

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 21, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

no moon in the sky

reaching for it anyway—

a siren wails in the night

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Green Glass

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on March 20, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

When I was a girl, I used to

put messages in soda bottles

and stop them up with cork—

I’d stuff them with the kinds of messages

I would like to find—

you are beautiful

or

you will be happy—

and I would throw them into the lake.

 

I wish I could send one now

to your mirror

so the next time

you found your reflection

and started to frown,

you would see there, bobbing

between your self-critical eyes,

a message surprising enough

to help you know yourself clearly again—

 

sometimes it’s someone else’s eyes

that reteach our eyes to see.

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This Began as a Poem About Desperation

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , 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.

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Perspective

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , 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.

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Discovery in the Back Yard

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , 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.

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One Message from the Body

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on March 16, 2017| 1 Comment »

 

 

an old black coat I slip on

that no longer fits—

this anger

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Though I Have No Bouquet

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , 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.

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Odd Joy in Paradox Valley

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , 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.

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Love Poem

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , 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.

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After Three Days at the Silent Meditation Retreat

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 12, 2017| 3 Comments »

 

 

 

Everything’s a gong now—

the clang of the spoon in the mixing bowl,

the growl of the water rushing in the pipes,

the ding of the microwave’s timer,

the crow—

what isn’t an invitation to show up,

to offer the moment all our attention—

scent of pizza, barking dog, lawn mower,

sweet rose tea, that voice in my head,

the chime of the changing light.

 

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