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Archive for September, 2020

We turn off the music. Practice left turns

onto the highway. Park on the bias.

Park on the street. We get gas.

Drive backwards. Use the median.

Change lanes. Use the blinker.

Slow down. Full stop.

There’s a rule for everything

and a comfort in knowing the rules.

“And you can practice everywhere,”

notes our DMV guidelines, “so have at it!”

Imagine if we all practiced everywhere.

If we all signaled before every turn—

turn of heart, turn of mind, turn of plans.

Imagine if we all agreed, no matter where

we’re going and no matter where we’ve been,

that we are all travelers on the same side,

knowing we’re on this road together.

Imagine if we agreed to stop in an orderly way—

no drama, no shaming, no blame,

so that someone else might take their turn to go.

Imagine, getting along with others,

no matter what they believe,

could be as simple as keeping it steady,

looking over your shoulder,

making eye contact in a crossing,

giving each other some space.

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Inside my heart is a gardener.

She knows eventually

all seeds planted in the heart

will die. That doesn’t stop her

from planting. And on a night

when she knows it will frost—

winter, after all, comes soon—

that doesn’t stop her

from rummaging around for blankets

to cover everything in bloom.

You could just let it go,

says some other inner voice.

Nothing lasts forever.

She pauses to listen.

Perhaps all she’ll get is one more week—

one more week of lush and unruly beauty,

one more week of riotous love.

It’s late and she’s tired.

She grabs another blanket.

Damn right, she’ll fight for it.  

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Why I Smile at Strangers

In difficult times, carry something beautiful in your heart.

          

–Blaise Pascal

And so today, I walk the streets

with vermillion maple leaves inside me,

and the deep purple of late-blooming larkspur

and the lilting praise of meadowlark.

I carry with me thin creeks with clear water

and the three-quarters moon

and the spice-warm scent of nasturtiums.

And honey in the sunlight.

And words from Neruda and

slow melodies by Erik Satie.

It is easy sometimes to believe

that everything is wrong.

That people are cruel and the world

destroyed and the end of it all

imminent. But there is yet goodness

beyond imagining—the creamy

white flesh of ripe pears

and the velvety purr of a cat in my lap

and the white smear of milky way—

I carry these things in my heart,

more certain than ever that one way

to counteract evil is to ceaselessly honor what’s good

and share it, share it until

we break the choke hold of fear

and at least for a few linked moments,  

we believe completely in beauty,

growing beauty, yes, beauty.

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Benediction

            for Craig and Daiva

Tonight love is a stray dog,

hungry and lean, manhood intact,

who wanders to your front yard,

drawn by the smell of food

and also to the laughter,

the quiet guitar, the poems.

He laps at spilled wine.

He nuzzles your hand.

He curls into the lap

of everyone who will receive him.

And though you can’t fathom

where he came from, can’t name him,

can’t say what will happen tomorrow,

tonight, love finds a place

on your bench and nestles in,

refuses to leave, insists

on being at the center of things.

Meanwhile, overhead,

Jupiter and Saturn, the two biggest worlds

in our solar system, prepare to conjoin.

Meanwhile, all around there is howling.

But love doesn’t make any noise,

no, he is content to listen to your voices

telling the story of how it all began.

He is content to be here,

content to let you turn another page,

while at your feet, he stretches, settles,

makes your home his home.

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making you a bouquet

of morning light—

leaving it at your doorstep

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Taking It All Off

In order to swim, one takes off all one’s clothes—in order to aspire to the truth, one must undress in a far more inward sense, divest oneself of all one’s inward clothes, of thoughts, conceptions, selfishness, etc., before one is sufficiently naked.
         

   —Søren Kierkegaard

And so I attempt to slip out

of the shirt of defensiveness,

slip off the belt of shame.

I wriggle against the jeans

of righteousness and tug

off the socks of distrust.

It’s scary to take it all off,

but everything else feels too tight

these days, and damn,

I just want the truth so bad,

want to wear it like my own skin,

want to step into it like slippers

I will never take off, want to

wear it like boots that will

carry me over any terrain,

want to wear it like

an eternal perfume—

something I am sure is there

even with my eyes closed,

even in the dark.

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(Photo by ANDREW CABALLERO-REYNOLDS / AFP) (Photo by ANDREW CABALLERO-REYNOLDS/AFP via Getty Images)

Tonight, September 23, 2020, PBS News Hour ran my poem, “In the Steps of RBG” as part of the celebration of the Supreme Court Justice’s life and legacy. It includes an interview with me and a video of me reciting the poem. I am so grateful for all the work she did, for all the ways she helped create equality, and for all the ways she inspired us to create social change “one step at a time.” Even more so, I am grateful for her example of integrity, kindness, and willingness to be a bridge builder–she never stooped to name calling or nastiness. She treated everyone with respect. As my friend Blake Spalding says, it’s time for all of us to channel our inner RBG. Let’s take some steps, friends. Together.

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            (title after a first line by e.e. cummings)

when you with your nimble

and radiant thoughts

reach into the junkyard of my mind

and there—hiding behind

some old rusty shoulds

and burnt-out what ifs—

you find a small tarnished scrap

of lost perhaps and hold it up

like a treasure, burnish it

with fierce devotion

until even I can see

how it shines.

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They said

it’s a wall

so I believed

it’s a wall

until I reached

through the wall

and found my hand

full of flowers.

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            with thanks to Rebecca Mullen

but what if I can’t do enough

I said, and love said

what if you don’t try?

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United

Over thirty years later

I still return to the night

when my brother and I

stood in the kitchen and argued

the merits of Grape Nuts,

versus Cap’n Crunch.

Potassium, potassium, potassium.

I still hear him chanting

the one nutrient his cereal

had more of than mine.

Breakfast was the least

of our differences,

but it taught us to laugh

as we disagreed

so that later, when the stakes

were higher—

presidential elections

and gun laws—

we could argue till I cried,

then snuggle on the couch.

Though we seldom agree,

though we will forever cancel each other’s votes,

though I will never eat Cap’n Crunch,

I’ll sit with him as he eats it,

laughing, shaking my head,

grateful he teaches me so much

about how I am not.

He will celebrate me and buy me

any damn cereal I want.

Though we disagree about almost everything

except how much we love each other—

we are two threads in a civilization

that would try to makes us believe

we couldn’t be one cloth—

but we are, woven tight, we are.

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Finding Faith

While pulling the beets,

it’s impossible to lose faith

in the world. Those tiny seeds

that once fit in the palm are now

large red globes,

dense with dark sweetness

and heavy in the hand.

They are like promises kept,

like small proofs in patience,

confirmations that sometimes

the good that’s growing can’t be seen.

They are like hard truths.

Not everyone will want them.

Some will.

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In the Steps of RBG

Real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.

—Ruth Bader Ginsburg, as quoted in Notorious RBG by Irin Carmen and Shana Knizhnik

           

So let me take one step right now,

one step toward respect.

And give me strength to take another

toward clarity. And though

my feet might feel like stones, let

me take another step toward justice.

And another toward equity. And another

toward truth. And though my legs

may feel leaden and slow, though someone

else may step on my toes, may I inch

toward forgiveness. May every step

be toward a bridge. Enough divisiveness.

And as I go, may I find joy in the stepping,

grace in the edging toward great change.

But if there’s little joy, let me step anyway.

Then take another step. And another. And another.

*

Thank you, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Thank you for showing us another way to fight. Thank you for bringing us together right now. Thank you for all you did to stand up for what is just. Thank you for your commitment, determination, inspiration and true leadership. A Matriot.

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One Comfort

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I Want a Lot

You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.

     —Rainer Maria Rilke, “You See, I Want a Lot,” trans. Robert Bly

Rilke, you were right.

I want so much to be useful.

Today I stared at the brown cardboard box

on the counter and marveled

at how a box knows exactly what it’s here to do—

it holds what needs to be held,

it keeps things together,

it helps things move where they need to go.

It is a fort for a child or a bed for a cat

or a makeshift sled in winter.

I hazard to say the box never worries

if it is enough. It simply folds up

when its task is done and waits to be of use again.

Or not. Oh, this longing to do more, to be more,

to serve more, because in every direction,

the need is so great. Oh, this fear

that no matter how much I do, it is never enough.

A man is not a crowbar, a hoe.

A woman is not a box,

but oh for a moment to be able

to keep things together.

I know it’s not how it works,

but oh, for a moment,

to hold all that needs to be held.

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and when

the larkspur

petals fall and when

the fall begins to sing

and when the song weaves

through the loss and when

the loss dyes

everything, when

everything is

emptier and emptiness

is whole somehow, when

whole is what a life

does, when life is

what is now, when

now is

ever changing

and changing knows

no end, when

any ending

I might seek is

just another

when

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So In I Go

And if I felt into that dark ache

in my gut, would it cover me

with its stench? Would it stick

to me like tar, like muck, like pitch?

Would it suck me in like quicksand

so that the more I tried to save myself,

the deeper in I would sink?

And if I waved from its depths,

who would save me?

And if I don’t meet it at all,

what if I don’t meet it at all?

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Three poems of mine came out today in ONE ART: A Journal of Poetry, an online journal that I love to read. Please check it out–it’s a great place to find other poems and poets you’ll love.

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Hello, Fear

How does she do it? She hitches a ride on the blow, a stowaway on that which brings her down.

            —Teddy Macker, “The Mosquito Among the Raindrops”

There I was, making tea in my kitchen,
when fear hit me like a school bus.
I didn’t need a scientist or therapist
to tell me it hurt.
I screamed: Arghh! I shouted: No!
But after smashing into me, 
fear just opened the folding glass door
of the bus, yanked me on,
then plopped me into a green vinyl seat.

I’m scared, I said.
Yeah, fear said. ’Cause I’m scary.

Yeah, I squealed, as the bus careened
through the couch, through
my bedroom, through the splintering
dining room table.

What if I lose everything? I said to fear.
Yeah, said fear, what if you do?

And who will I be when everything changes?
Yeah, said fear, who will you be?

Then he opened the door
and shoved me off the bus
and I was standing again beside
the familiar green counter,
tea cup in hand, not a drop spilled.

Who will you be? he shouted
from the half open window.

I took a deep breath,
not knowing how to respond,
then stepped into my life,
determined to live into the answer.  

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One Long Story

hovering over

the generous blank

the pen wonders how to improve

on all that potential—

oasis without a trail

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