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Archive for April, 2017

What Will You Become?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 22, 2017| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

You are the elephant

and I the room,

you the lark,

the missing spoon,

 

you the question

that swallowed the answer,

you the music

inside the dancer,

 

and I am still

the waiting room—

or, perhaps, dear elephant,

a cocoon.

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One Togetherness

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 20, 2017| 4 Comments »

you and I

two banks

of the same river

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Join Me in Denver at the Tattered Cover

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 20, 2017| 7 Comments »

“Even Now,” my latest book (a collaboration with artist Jill Sabella) is a finalist for the Colorado Author’s League Book Awards in poetry. Yippee! If you live near Denver, I hope you can join me on Saturday, April 29, 2 p.m. for the reading of poetry and non-fiction finalists (though I am the only one finalist who will make it for a poetry collection). I will have my dear friend Kyra Kopestonski with me to accompany on cello–a very special treat. I’m excited about this honor and hope you can come hear me and the other finalists! It’s Independent Bookstore Day–come celebrate! Winners of the awards will be announced the next week.

Tattered Cover Poster 2017 CAL Awards Finalists

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And Touch All Our Most Vulnerable Places

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 19, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

After hoping and trying

and failing and hoping

and trying and failing

and hoping and trying

and failing the mind

perhaps will finally say

I don’t know what comes next

and, startled by the sweet

clarity of this, the body

raises both arms, though

the mind didn’t tell it to—

yes, the arms rise weightless

and open, as if there is nothing

they aren’t ready to embrace,

as if the world as it is

might come rushing in.

 

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Holding Patterns

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 18, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

It’s not patience

that makes the cup

hold the tea, it’s

simple practicality.

Not love that makes

bowl hold ripened fruit.

But it is patience

that holds the phone

and says I miss you.

It’s love that doesn’t

hold at all.

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Despite Birdsong

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 17, 2017| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

In a cupboard

he opens often

he keeps a box

of resentment.

Something about

knowing it is there

makes him feel alive.

 

He touches the box

again and again,

lets the anger fill

whatever inside him

feels empty.

 

Hear it? Thumping

in him, pretending

it is a heart. It’s easy

to mistake.

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A Bouquet of Poems After Two Weeks in Florida

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 16, 2017| 3 Comments »

Happy Easter! I am back from Florida and helping my parents move. Now we’ll return to our regularly scheduled daily poems, but here are 15 from the last 15 days … I decided to bunch them all together into one bouquet. 

 

 

eavesdropping over the fence

the bougainvillea leans into my thoughts,

blushes a deeper pink

 

*

 

the moon emerges

from behind the cloud

and the whole sea shines—

wanting to find in us

that kind of light

 

*

 

that memory

leaves my lips half open—

ripe blood oranges

 

*

 

watching my father

give away his favorite fishing rods—

 

a hook in my heart

a tug on the line

 

*

 

at the top of the hill

I see another hill—

deciding to take

another step,

another step

 

*

 

I’ve hired a hit man

for my doubt—

now it’s really

got something

to worry about

 

*

 

finding the perfect shell—

giving it back

to the sea

 

*

 

it ,too,

has a shadow,

that perfect red hibiscus

 

*

 

oblivious to the angel beside me

I tripped on its wings as I passed

and scared it into a white hush of flight—

I stood, equal parts bereft with its loss

and blessed with proof it exists

 

*

 

pressing my nose

against your nose the way a cat would—

hoping you stay close

 

*

 

sure, do it again,

said God, but next time

try giggling

when you do

a belly flop

 

*

 

mesmerized by the sunset,

reminding myself

I am also an actor

in this scene,

not only audience

 

*

 

wearing my sunburn

the way I wish

I were wearing you—

the sunrise leans

into every shade of pink

 

*

 

on the old couch

I hold my mother gently

and slow my breathing to hers—

the small light of our love

pushes against the edge of dark

 

*

 

the congregation pussy willows

and mullein rosettes sang off key—

I sang along, not caring

if we sounded good, just grateful

to be praising

 

 

 

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Future Imperfect

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 1, 2017| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

We’ll catch up soon,

I say, and I actually believe it—

though after I say them

the words stare at their watches

and rush off, late

for their next sentence,

their letters shaking their heads

their sans serif heads,

as if they know

I’ll never learn.

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