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Archive for July, 2019

One Approach

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 31, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

the elephant in the room—

giving him

the finest seat

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What I Did Not Write in the Card

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 30, 2019| 6 Comments »

 

            for S

 

I don’t want you to die.

I know that is selfish,

but it’s the truest thing.

I know we don’t speak of it.

I know I am supposed

to find acceptance,

to find metaphors about

rebirth and letting go—

the trees are always good that way—

but I don’t want to.

I hate that you are hurting.

I hate how far away you are.

You and I both know

that I would never write this

in your card. No, instead,

I send a metaphor about birds,

about resilience and

the gift of wings. Instead,

I tell you I love you.

It’s the other truest thing.

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One Persistence

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 30, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

in my thoughts

a tap-rooted weed

sometimes I notice

its beautiful pink blooms

before I pull it again

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I Cried to Dream Again

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on July 28, 2019| Leave a Comment »

            title from William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act III, Scene II

 

 

I have a Caliban locked in my heart,

a child of the moon. He reminds me sometimes

 

of all the beautiful places he’s shown me—

the heart’s clear springs and its riches.

 

How we loved each other then.

There was a time he would offer

 

to lick my shoes. There was a time

I would follow him everywhere.

 

I invited him to sleep in my sheets.

I would rub his wild scruff till he purred.

 

I poured him my best wine in my best glass.

I sang him to sleep. There are some betrayals

 

we will never forgive. Or so

we tell ourselves. Now he is insolent.

 

Now I’ve built walls. Now he’s rebellious.

Now I’m master I’d rather not be.

 

It was so much more wonderful then

when we were friends, when I trusted him

 

and delighted in the most primal parts of me.

And though I lock him up now, he reminds me

 

through his cage of the sweet airs of the heart

and the music inside us that longs to be obeyed.

 

 

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If Only All Change Were So Easy

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 28, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

dancing in the downpour—

the same woman who an hour ago

didn’t want to get wet

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Off the Path

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 26, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

On the path, I am the one

who forgets to look up—

 

the one who doesn’t see the mountain

because I am focused on the path.

 

I am the one who fears the dead end,

who worries and obsesses about it,

 

only to discover it wasn’t an end at all,

just a sharp turn, and the path goes on.

 

I am the one who fears she’s not good enough

for this path, who wonders if there’s another path

 

somewhere that I am supposed to be on.

Everyone else seems to know where they’re going.

 

I can’t even seem to spot the signs.

Confused, I stop, which allows me

 

to notice the weeds gone to seed,

notice their tiny white globes, notice

 

how good it feels to stop

and notice them. I am the one who

 

cares so much about the path and still

fails at staying on it. In fact,

 

the more I pay attention, the more

I am the one who forgets there is a path.

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Any Action, Any Action at All

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on July 26, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

The way you do one thing is the way you do everything.

—Iyanla Vanzant

 

 

It’s violent, pulling the spinach

up by the roots. Rationalize

it has bolted. Rationalize

some plants will never thrive.

Rationalize that all things

have a cycle.

Despite the rational mind,

there is the actual ripping out

of the roots, the plucking

of the leaves, the tossing

of the stems.

 

But it’s just a vegetable,

you tell yourself.

It’s not a metaphor.

 

It gets harder to believe that.

At some point, Perhaps you see

there is nothing in the world,

not one thing, in which

you can’t find a shard of yourself.

Everything, everything is charged with meaning.

 

But clearing out the spinach

is a job that must be done.

So you learn to invest kindness

into your touch.

You sing as you do it,

and you say simple words:

Thank you, thank you.

 

You will make a lovely

bright green soup tonight.

In some rows, you transplant flowers

in the space left behind.

In some rows, you do nothing

and notice how beautiful it can be, absence.

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After Six Days of Holding It Together

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on July 25, 2019| 9 Comments »

 

 

 

It wasn’t until I had passed through security

and found my way into Concourse B

that I found myself sinking into a chair

across from a giant Vienna Beef poster

and began to weep. And once they began,

the tears wouldn’t stop. Nor did I try

to stop them. I had wondered in the ICU

where they were. Had wondered

again at my parents’ home. It was strange

to be so level—not cold, really, and not numb,

but oddly steeled. It was a relief, really,

to sob into my hands. To let grief take over.

To be a maidservant to fragility.

What a gift to be sideswiped with the truth

of our vulnerability. What a blessing

to be baptized in my own helplessness.

Over the loudspeaker, they announced

that a plane was delayed. As if any of us

really know when we’ll depart, when we’ll arrive.

When the tears dried, I stood. Walked

to my gate recalibrated. Called my parents

again because I could. Because I could.

In the window, I smiled at my watery reflection,

how it almost wasn’t there at all.

 

 

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Between the Chores and Doctor Calls

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 24, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Amidst the sirens

and the horns,

tucked in between

the skyscrapers,

we found a garden

with a fountain

at its center

rung with trees

and lush green leaves

and purple hastas—

and there, inside

that sudden peace,

my dad and I

sat side by side

and didn’t solve

a goddammed thing

but listened to

the sound of water

falling, falling,

and watched it

rising up,

rising up again.

 

 

 

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Floral Rx

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on July 23, 2019| 5 Comments »

 

 

Because I cannot fix her heart,

I plant flowers in the two empty pots

on my mother’s high rise patio.

She’s always loved flowers around the house—

peonies and petunias in Wisconsin,

succulents and larkspur in Colorado.

She taught me when I was a girl

how to deadhead the plants

to produce more blooms,

how to make the snapdragon

open its reptilian mouth, how

to tell the story of Cinderella

by carefully dissecting the bleeding heart,

how to make touch me nots spit their seeds,

and how a few flowers around the home

bring immeasurable joy. And so

I pick out white and blue lobelia and

a soft gray vine and a hot pink begonia

and other flowers and vines I can’t name

and we sit on her patio together

in the late afternoon sun

and arrange the potted plants.

There is something about planting flowers

together that changes the way

you see the flowers—the same way

a soup tastes better when made

by someone who loves you—

and I thrill to think of her

looking out the window and seeing

the bright red geraniums surrounded

by purples and blues and greens

and thinking to herself, wow,

that girl really loves me, and

surely, surely, though it won’t

fix her heart, surely it will do some good,

those draping pink petunias

so familiar, so new.

 

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