Posted in Uncategorized, tagged night, poem, poetry, walking on November 11, 2019| 6 Comments »
One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, “What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?
—Rachel Carson
And so I memorize how it is
that the cheeks nearly freeze
but the body’s so warm,
how the river informs every measure
but the thoughts sift to silence,
how the body thrills
in its ability to swing one foot
in front of the other, how
walking is just another name
for recovering from falling,
how strange it seems now
that I was once afraid of the dark.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, ideas, poem, poetry, sheep, yes on November 11, 2019| 2 Comments »
I am perhaps like the mama sheep
who rejects the lamb that is not her own—
snorts at it, won’t let it suckle,
shoves it away with her nose.
Though her own lamb was born lifeless,
though her teats are full to leaking,
she will have nothing to do with the alien.
It’s not the lamb’s fault it has the wrong scent,
just as it’s not the idea’s fault it was born
in another’s mind. It’s likely a good idea,
just needing a bit of nourishment.
But there are skilled herders who know the art
of grafting, who make of the dead lamb’s skin
a jacket and wrap it around the alien lamb,
tricking the ewe into taking it on as her own.
Then it’s a matter of bonding.
Don’t think I didn’t see you as you stripped the skin.
Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’ve done.
The truth is, I wanted to foster it, to claim it
as my own, to see it frolic in these fields of sage.
I was made for nurturing. It’s just that loss is difficult.
It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to say yes.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attachment, fish, ocean, poem, poetry on November 10, 2019| Leave a Comment »
casting a broken net—
I catch no fish,
but oh, the pull of the sea
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, cinquefoil, flower, grief, parenting, poem, poetry on November 9, 2019| 2 Comments »
Now dried and brown
the cinquefoil where once
bees danced in gold flowers—
recalibrating the heart
to find in brittle clusters
another invitation to dance.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged generosity, gift, mystery, poem, poetry on November 7, 2019| 5 Comments »
In the box from eBay,
a green crystal elephant
and not one clue
as to who might have sent it.
There are days
when I am amazed
by the goodness of people,
how we are marked by generosity
There are days
when I whisper thank you,
though I don’t know to whom,
and I revel in the mystery.
Posted in Uncategorized on November 7, 2019| 4 Comments »
Hope you can join me and Suzan Beraza and a bunch of other filmmakers for a night of independent film on Saturday in Ridgway, CO. Our short (very) cinepoem (funded by a grant from Telluride Arts) was selected to be part of this year’s program … can’t wait to see what else they’re showing!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apple, kitchen, paying attention, poem, poetry on November 6, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Wash the apple. Quarter the apple.
Seed and thinly slice the apple.
A whole morning can pass this way—
holding the apples, slicing them through,
making small v’s in the quarters
to remove the seeds.
And how many times in four hours
do I notice how perfectly the apple
fits in the palm of one hand—
as if it were made to be held.
How seldom did I dance
beyond efficiency to notice
how the skin resists the knife,
but the flesh is so sweet, so willing.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mystery, nancy drew, poem, poetry, shadow on November 5, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I thought I was Nancy Drew,
a girl who stumbled into mysteries
and solved them. A girl proficient
at picking up clues. A girl who knew
her mission. It felt good to crack
the codes, to decipher the signs.
It felt good to know who was bad.
It felt good to know I was good.
And then I learned some signs
have multiple meanings. That sometimes
a mission gets in life’s way. That
bad people are also good,
and good people are also bad.
And that the solution is seldom
as elegant as the mystery—
secrets unfolding in the shadows.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, money, penny, poem, poetry on November 5, 2019| 6 Comments »
This year it costs 1.8 cents to make a penny.
It is, perhaps, similar to spending an hour
on an eleven-line poem that very few people
will read. And still, they mint the penny.
And still, I write the poem. Because
tradition. Because poems and pennies
are easy to spend. Because sometimes
the small things make life better—
something to wish on, something
valuable beyond its surface, something
humble to catch the light.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, humanness, mother, parenting, poem, poetry, strength on November 3, 2019| 4 Comments »
It surprises me she is fragile,
this woman who labored for eighteen hours
to birth me, this woman who cared for me
every time I was sick, who coached
my soccer team, who led my Girl Scout troupe.
This woman who went hunting and fishing
and still often comes home with the biggest
catch. This woman who walked ten miles
to raise money for hunger. This woman
who prays for everyone, everyone.
And so tonight when I walk her
to her room and she needs to stop
a moment to catch her breath,
I marvel at how human she is,
this woman who has been more
than human to me my whole life—
a super hero, a champion, a star.
And somehow, knowing this, and
understanding that it’s been true all along,
I fall even more deeply in love with her
as she leans back on the bed, lets out
a long sigh, closes her eyes, and smiles.