Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, poem, poetry, spider, Walt Whitman on May 31, 2019| Leave a Comment »
When you wrote of the spider
launching through vacant space,
reeling from one sphere of meaning
to another, you didn’t know then
that you wrote that poem for me.
Two centuries later, this woman
reads about the bridges we are all
trying to form, and Walt, damned
if that wasn’t filament coming out
through your electric fingers.
https://poets.org/poem/noiseless-patient-spider
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged basil, death, forgiveness, garden, poem, poetry on May 31, 2019| Leave a Comment »
basil on the porch
the morning after a frost
leaves limp and black things—
how greenly it met yesterday
no amount of I’m sorry will do
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged humanity, poem, poetry, power on May 29, 2019| 7 Comments »
And if we can’t save the world,
and who says we can’t, then
let us try anyway. Perhaps
we have no superhuman powers—
can’t see through buildings,
can’t fly, can’t bend the bars of cages—
but we have human powers—
can listen, can stand up to,
can stand up for, can cradle.
And if we can’t imagine
a world of peace, and who
says we can’t, then let us
try anyway. Perhaps we start
tonight—on a Wednesday.
Thursday works, too. Or Friday.
Doesn’t much matter the day.
All that matters is the choice
to meet this moment exactly
as it is, with no dream of being
anyone else but our flawed
and fabulous very self—
and then, wholly present,
bringing this self to the world,
touching again and again what is true.
What if we do? And if we can’t
save ourselves, and who
says we can’t, let’s try anyway.
There was a time I thought
I could never be healed. That
was only because it hadn’t happened yet,
so I decided it wasn’t possible.
Healing happened anyway.
What have we decided isn’t possible?
What if we stopped believing
that limit? What if, right now,
we used our human powers
of compassion, clarity, gratitude,
praise? What if we did it together—
opened all those closed doors inside
us? What if we let the opening do
what opening does?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged night, poem, poetry, questions, silence on May 28, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I ask the night
teach me to ask bigger questions
it replies
perhaps you could
take the pen away
from the one who wants
to ask questions
and then let her come
walk in the night
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged colic, mother, parenting, poem, poetry, son on May 27, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I suppose by then I had guessed
that love was not only about happiness,
not only about ease and feeling good.
In fact, it turned out as the newborn boy
continued to cry for month after
inconsolable month, love looked
a lot like misery. It sounded like wailing
through all his waking hours.
It felt like exhaustion. Love looked
like losing a dream. And choosing
to cradle the infant anyway. And soothing
the wailing infant anyway. Love
had little to do with happiness.
And eventually the crying stopped. And
the boy learned to laugh. And to
hug. And to love. And happiness came.
And went. And came. And went. But love,
love stayed. Like a jay that comes
to the feeder and refuses to leave,
even if you don’t put out seed.
Like the freckle that stays on the skin
long after the burn from the sun.
Like the scar on your elbow shaped like a heart
that you got from falling in gravel. How it took
so long to heal. How you pray it never fades.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flower, gratitude, peony, poem, poetry on May 26, 2019| 4 Comments »
(with thanks to Donnalee for the peony buds)
Sitting with the peony
whatever is red in me reddens
and whatever in me is fist
loosens its grip
and whatever was sorrow
finds no mirror
and whatever is grateful
becomes fragrant
and I don’t even think
to remember
it won’t last forever,
all I know is
inside,
sweet nectar.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fire, photography, poem, poetry on May 25, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, body image, woman on May 24, 2019| 8 Comments »
And though I curse you
and drive you and push you,
body, you hold me,
you carry the soul,
you transform the plum
and the leaf into laughter,
you make tears out of water
and wine. You leap
and you slump, you
sing and you hunger,
you skip and run and crawl.
You let me be part of the miracle
when you made a new body within—
building spine and brain and chin
and toe out of broccoli and coffee and toast.
And when I am clumsy,
you wear the scars to remind me
where we have been. You
change, you soften, you rearrange.
You heal, you insist, you rest.
How, after all these years,
do I still find ways to ignore you?
You who have carried me across finish lines,
you who have held the weeping child?
Why, when I look in the mirror,
do I do anything but marvel
at your skill? Imagine, you breathe
without my command. You regenerate cells.
You tell the blood where to go and when.
Oh body, I’m sorry. I have hurt you. And you,
you hold me like the child that I am,
and you breathe me, you teach me,
you let me try again.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, body image, nature, poem, poetry, walking on May 23, 2019| 2 Comments »
I like my body when I’m in the woods
and I forget my body. I forget that arms,
that legs, that nose. I forget that waist,
that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain.
I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower.
I like when I evergreen, current and berry.
I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff.
And everything is yes then, and everything
new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew.
this poem can be found in Hush (Middle Creek Press, 2020)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged help, helplessness, love, mother, poem, poetry, step mother, tea on May 22, 2019| 2 Comments »
Because I can’t make things better,
I offer you tea. I am grateful when you accept.
The night holds us both
as we sit in the kitchen,
your voice a small boat
in an ocean of ache.
Because I can’t fix the problems,
I cover you with a blanket
when I see you are shivering,
though I know your shudders
have little to do with cold.
Still, it feels good when you pull
the white throw around you,
as if for the moment you’re protected.
I think of the Queen of Sheba,
how she learned to be grateful
for falling. How, in the dark,
she found her own light within,
then rose up and shared
this pearl with the world.
Because you are hurting,
I listen to you, would listen
all night, would listen all week.
I offer my whole attention.
And as you find in yourself
the light that is there,
I marvel as you marvel
at your own wisdom, your
own strength.
I listen. I nod.
I pour you tea.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, kilogram, love, poem, poetry, science on May 20, 2019| 2 Comments »
Darling, they’ve redefined the kilogram.
Once it was a thing. A real thing:
a platinum-iridium cylinder
weighing 2.2 pounds. A thing they kept
in France in a high-security vault. A thing
they could compare to other such weights
kept in vaults all around the world.
As if to lock a thing up is to keep it
from changing. Forever.
Now we know better.
Every thing changes. It’s the nature
of things. Even prototypes lose atoms,
no matter how sterile the room
in which they’re kept.
The loss may be only the weight
of a single eyelash that no longer
bats itself at time.
Over time, it matters.
Now, understanding the volatile nature of things,
they’ve made the kilogram an idea—
a simple truth—by tying its definition
to Planck’s constant. How the world loves
a constant.
Darling, know that I am a thing.
I have wanted to be constant,
unwavering, true, but I lose things.
I gain things. I change innumerable
times a day. I am never the same woman
as I was yesterday. Each time we speak,
I swell, I leak. I will always love you
not the same. There is more at work than gravity.
It’s the way the heart is made.
I want to make you promises.
Like constancy. Like forever.
I promise that I’ll change.
Like the old kilogram. Like weather.
https://www.cnn.com/2018/11/13/world/kilo-measurement-scli-intl/index.html
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, communion, gratitude, poem, poetry, translation on May 19, 2019| 3 Comments »
Once I would say “table,” and mean
“table.” Once, I would say
“broccoli” and mean “broccoli.”
I would say “stone” and mean
“stone.” I really did believe
that things were separate.
And nameable. Now,
every word that comes
out of my mouth, no matter
how many syllables, no matter
the tone of voice, no matter
my intention, I’ve come to understand
that every word
is really just a translation
for thank you,
thank you for this moment.
And every silence between the words,
regardless how brief,
is really just the sound
of one hand in gratitude clapping.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, sharing on May 19, 2019| 2 Comments »
finding in me
the place where honey
is stored
almost empty
still offering it to you
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged faith, heart, opening, poem, poetry, rain on May 17, 2019| 3 Comments »
Again the rain,
and I wander
the tender green grass
of the field.
The hands pull weeds
because the hands
want something to do.
And the mind looks
for morels, because the mind
wants something to do.
And the feet wander,
because they are born
nomads. And the heart
opens. Not because
it wants to, but
because there is something
in the scent of rain
that suggests
so much is possible,
even, against all odds,
beauty. Even, though
it seems impossible,
another day.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Christie Aschwanden, collaboration, Emerging Form, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on May 17, 2019| Leave a Comment »
What do a poet and a science writer have in common? A podcast on creative process! And in this episode of Emerging Form, Christie Aschwanden and I discuss collaborations–what makes them work, how they go sour, and what to do then! We also discuss whether collaborations need leaders, w
hy listening is an essential skill for working with other creatives, Chinese food, the Jabberwocky, and how spontaneity can enhance a creative collaboration. And then we’ll wrap up our conversation by talking with musician/songwriter/video producer Christine Laskowski who will play our game of two questions. We’ll ask her 1) What makes a good collaboration? And 2) How do you deal with conflicts when they arise in a collaboration? You can weigh in on these questions yourself, either on our website or on our Facebook page. You can find Emerging Form wherever you find podcasts, or on our webpage here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beginnings, breaking open, endings, poem, poetry on May 16, 2019| Leave a Comment »
weeping beside
the pussy willows—
all those tears
over saying goodbye,
I wouldn’t uncry
a single one
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, goldfinch, heart, heartache, poem, poetry, thorns on May 15, 2019| Leave a Comment »
goldfinch stealing
into the thorn bush—
oh heart, bless you
for being willing, please
don’t follow him in
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cultivating, daughter, garden, ideas, opening, parenting, poem, poetry on May 14, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Why do we have to do this,
asks my daughter, hoe in hand,
and I, hoe in hand, reply
that it’s good for the soil
and helps it to breathe.
I think about how my own thoughts
crust over, how quickly
they become impenetrable.
And then hoe of loss. Hoe of hope.
Hoe of disbelief. Hoe of shock.
Again and again,
the world breaks me open,
allows the new to come in.
Again and again, I resist
the change. And then marvel
at how essential it is,
the new ideas so green,
so persistent, tender as
a girl asking why.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged duck, Emerging Form, mind, nature, ophir, poem, poetry on May 13, 2019| 2 Comments »
A mallard swims
in the beaver pond,
the sunlight makes
green praise of its head
and for an instant
the whole world
revolves around
emerald sheen.
There is little else
that’s green here,
though it is late spring—
but over 10,000 feet
the snow tends to linger.
This is a place where
the mind doesn’t hesitate
to offer its attention
to the sharp scent of trees,
to the snaking trickle of snowmelt,
to the thrill of cold air
in the lungs. And in giving
itself away, the mind
becomes clearer, becomes
a shining and natural thing,
like a mallard wing, like
a tree just before leafing,
like a canyon in which
the lush green world
is just about to emerge.