Make the most of peace.
—Holiday Mathis, horoscope February 9, 2021
This morning I wake to notice
that nothing hurts. I notice
I am warm beneath the comforter
and the air in the house is cool on my face
and the only sound is a chickadee at dawn
singing its two-note “sweetie” song.
There are mornings I wake already stunned
by the pain of the broken world,
but this morning, I lie for a while
in quiet and savor the thin trace of first light
as it develops grays in the room, savor
the rhythmic rise and fall of my own chest,
savor the feel of my palm on my belly,
welcome its slight weight, its small warmth.
Archive for February, 2021
Making the Most of Peace
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chickadee, holiday mathis, morning, peace, waking on February 9, 2021| 5 Comments »
One Stuck
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged book, life, stuck on February 9, 2021| 2 Comments »
Stubborn Praise with Naomi Shihab Nye
Posted in Uncategorized on February 9, 2021| Leave a Comment »
In this special evening of Stubborn Praise: Celebrating the here and now through poetry, co hosts Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer and James Crews feature Young People’s Poet Laureate and widely beloved poet Naomi Shihab Nye, author of “Cast Away,” “Everything Comes Next,” “Fuel,” and many other award-winning poetry books. After the reading, we converse about how poetry is helping us meet the challenges of the moment, the importance of encouragement and embracing paradox as we write toward togetherness.
A Dream of Goodness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding on, letting go, monkey fist on February 7, 2021| 4 Comments »
After holding something tight for just minutes,
it takes ten more for the fist to unhold,
to let what it has been grasping
simply balance there in the palm.
I have heard the story of how they trap monkeys
by putting a treat through a hole just big enough
that the monkey’s hand can slip in, but
when clasped around the sweet,
cannot slip out.
I have been one of the rare monkeys
who knows that to be free, it must let go.
It takes time, but eventually the fingers unfurl
the way a leaf unfolds out of its bud—
not all at once, but in spurts, little jerks
of the knuckles, until at last the hand is open
and the fingers remember
what they can do besides clench,
besides clutch, besides clamp.
Today I wonder if the head might learn
what the hand knows, might to slacken and relax
to release a dream.
It never knew holding a dream
could become a problem—
it was a dream, for heaven’s sakes.
Something good. Something wonderful.
Something sweet.
When did the dream become a trap?
A tightening, a snare?
Oh dream, can I let you go
the way a hand might release a piece of paper?
Such a beautiful dream—
that those around me might truly be happy
if only I am good enough, if only I hang on.
Open Invitation: A poetry playshop for writing new poems
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poetry classes on February 7, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Join me for five Mondays in March, reading poems and writing your own!
The premise—poems are everywhere, just waiting for us to find them.
The practice—reading and writing and sharing poems together.
The promise—when we play with poems, it opens us and changes the way we meet the world.
Each class, I will bring poems for the class to read—then we’ll leap into writing our own poems. At the end of class, we’ll share them. This is a fun, safe, playful, generative, process-loving class for all levels. Bring your curiosity! The invitations are everywhere—let’s find them together!
LIMIT 12 STUDENTS, TWO SCHOLARSHIPS AVAILABLE
THIS IS A 5-WEEK ZOOM CLASS, Mondays in March, March 1-29, 2-4 p.m. MST. You will receive links to the Zoom group a week prior to the event! $140. Hosted by the amazing SHYFT. Here’s the link to register. If you have problems registering, call Carie at 720-289-5229
Three Snapshots from the Desert
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, scale on February 7, 2021| Leave a Comment »
in my palm
a tiny pelvis—
birth of the universe
*
with such large hands
this petroglyph
holds the past
*
bright scent of juniper
no longer there—
still I sniff my fingertips
Ode to the Onion I Didn’t Have Tonight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged food, loss, ode, onion on February 5, 2021| 3 Comments »
And there you were not
on the shelf with your shiny red skin,
and there you were not in the pan
in thin pink rings filling the air,
and there you were not
in the sauce, that warm underlayer
that grounds the bright tomato—
all night I missed you.
All night, the red wine kept asking,
Where is it? Where is it?
All night, I thought of how
what is missing is sometimes
most here.
Disappointment
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged disappointment, time on February 4, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Time lost its shoes.
—Pablo Neruda, “Too Many Names,” version by Anthony Kerrigan
And if the day
has lost its shoes
that doesn’t mean
it won’t walk barefoot
toward midnight.
Yes, even if it loses its feet,
the day will still crawl—
will slither till its raw
if that’s what it takes—
to make it to tomorrow.
Some days this feels
like a threat, but today,
that certainty, old
and Jurassic-slow as it is,
is the only thing
that keeps me
moving my own feet
toward the next hour.
And the next. And
the next.
Biomechanical Creature
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged find holiness in the everyday, hand, kayleen, self discovery, touch on February 4, 2021| 4 Comments »
Anything can be a holy path, says Kayleen,
and I begin to trace the outline of my left hand
with my right index finger, following
the familiar shape, surprised
at how intimate it is, this tiny tactile journey
of wrinkles and knuckles, fingers and thumb—
I close my eyes and my finger continues
to slowly travel the tips and webs, rises
and vees, a labyrinth of skin and nail
I navigate through touch.
How many years have I avoided knowing
myself as holy? How many days
have I desecrated this temple of flesh
and breath with belittling thoughts?
How many hours have I resisted the pleasure
I feel now as I explore this fleeting path,
this haptic trail steeped in awe?
Perhaps science could explain away
this divine excursion as nothing more
than a series of electrical impulses
moving at eighty feet per second
through my neural infrastructure,
but somehow knowing how the body works
makes this gentle path I choose today
even more oh! more holy.
*quote from Kayleen Asbo in “Blessing Thread: Wales and Ireland,” an online class
From Here to There
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bridge, connection, imbolc, love on February 3, 2021| 9 Comments »
What do you want to bridge?
—Kayleen Asbo, “Blessing Thread, “Wales and Ireland”
Forever may I build
this bridge between you
and me, build it with words
sincere and strong,
and when the words
don’t quite reach,
I’ll build the bridge with silence,
and when silence
falls short, I’ll build it
with longing, and if
the longing won’t span
the gap, I’ll fill in what’s left
with history, with hope,
with facts, with fantasy,
jazz, poetry, shoelaces,
old gum, feathers, toothpicks,
candlewax, gauze of ruined dreams,
almosts, apple peels, I swear
I will use anything it takes
to build this bridge,
and when it falls apart as bridges do,
I’ll build it again. With my bones,
with my tears, with my shadow,
my light.