Of course, the trees with their greening,
their growing, their gift of eating light—
how beautiful they are in these first days of spring:
their feathery drupes that gather low sun,
the tender gold when the leaves first unfurl.
But today I am awed by the vital soil that feeds them—
awed by the multipedes and woodlice, fly larvae and springtails
that fragment the once-living world into mulch;
awed by the nematodes, the mites, the pauropods,
awed by the rotifers, the algae, the bacteria,
the single-celled protozoans—all of these makers of earth.
There’s elegance in the process—the breaking down,
the separation of proteins, the release of nitrogen,
the creation of rich, dark humus.
How seldom I honor the beauty of tearing apart,
the blessing of brokenness, the importance of those
who undo, who help the world go to pieces.
The earth itself is an altar to breakdown, decay,
collapse, demise. And from these infinite violences,
we rise, like trees, we rise.
Archive for April, 2021
On Earth Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dirt, Earth Day, falling apart, soil, trees on April 21, 2021| 4 Comments »
Holy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged find holiness in the everyday on April 20, 2021| 2 Comments »
Tonight, it seems impossible to not notice
the god that brightens the cup of mint tea
and the soft-scented god in the lavender petals.
The quenching god in the tangerine
juice running down the wrists.
And the laughing saline god
that crashes the ocean waves.
The stinky god in the stinky fish
and the starlit god in the dark abyss
and the grumbling god in the growling belly
and the somber god in the pillow—
it’s a wonder I ever forget how holy
the world is, every line, every hair,
every scale, every sound—and yet somehow
sometimes I miss the balancing god
in the bicycle tire and the ticklish
god in the inner thigh and the sweetening
god in the green bananas that even tonight
are engaged in ripening, that miracle
of transforming into a deeper sweetness
minute by minute by minute.
Bouquet of Haikulings from Camping in Utah and Visiting the Florida Keys
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged camping, Florida, haikuling on April 19, 2021| 2 Comments »
*
I was once
a mountain
—the sand
*
red hands on the cave wall—
asking my own palms
what mark will you make?
*
lying on the earth
shivering beneath the stars—
all night knowing where I am
*
stomping bull of doubt—
a blue butterfly
lands on its nose
*
distant coyote—
the heart doesn’t howl
alone tonight
*
delighted by pot shards—
could I find my own brokenness
so precious?
*
the seaweed, the pink hibiscus
inviting the self
to fall in love with both
*
when all the hearts wants
is a hole in one—
bogey after bogey
*
slipping into the ocean of love—
how did I ever believe
it was a puddle
*
after the conversation
there is only
after the conversation
*
holding my father’s hand—
a low sun lighting
the whole ocean
*
rumors of big sharks
swim circles around
my mother and I in the channel
*
all this talk of sharing
our most vulnerable parts—
sunburn on my belly
*
on the airplane home—
hearing in the whir of ventilation
the waves of the ocean
The Lover of Uncertainty Confesses
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bird, certainty, uncertainty on April 19, 2021| 2 Comments »
Certainty is a frigatebird,
able to soar on the wind for weeks,
its nest a distant thing.
Is it wrong to say I admire it,
sleek and raven feathered,
how it dives from the sky
with exquisite precision,
how it steals what it wants
with no regard for what’s fair.
I have wanted to be that certain,
wanted to take, wanted to believe
my hunger is all that matters.
Is it wrong to notice these thoughts,
to give voice to their midnight wings?
I say I trust what I don’t know.
Meanwhile, I flirt with certainty.
It whispers to me,
I’m the other truest thing.
Butterfly Effect
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged butterfly effect, chaos theory, sound on April 19, 2021| Leave a Comment »
At first I hear only the fan.
The hum of the fridge.
The whine of a faraway motor.
I wait. I listen a long time
until I hear the slightest silence
from thirty years ago
when that butterfly wing in China
didn’t flap and so the weather didn’t change
and so until this moment,
the woman today didn’t know
that she was missing so much laughter
thirty years ago.
Wonder
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged shoes, wonder on April 19, 2021| 4 Comments »
I wear my wonder
like old running shoes—
not elegant,
not sophisticated,
surprisingly inappropriate
in certain rooms.
I notice how others
sometimes wrinkle their noses
at a blatant sporting of wonder,
thinking, perhaps, I must be oblivious
to the dress code:
stilettos of apathy,
high heels of indifference,
boots of cool reserve.
But dang, this wonder
gets me where I need to go
every inch,
every mile, even
across the room.
When everywhere I step
is broken glass,
wearing this wonder
is the only reason
I can move at all.
published in ONE ART: A journal of poetry
Interview on the Ram Dass Be Here Now Network
Posted in Uncategorized on April 19, 2021| 1 Comment »
What a joy it was to explore poetry and spirituality with Raghu Markus on the Mindrolling podcast … for an hour we spoke of trust and falling apart and process. We read poems and talk about embodiment and showing up and finding joy in a devastated world. Available as audio and as video.
Short Break in Posting
Posted in Uncategorized on April 6, 2021| 2 Comments »
Hi friends,
it’s our spring break so I will be mostly offline these next two weeks and not sending out the daily poems. On April 19, you’ll get a big bouquet of two weeks’ worth of daily poems all at once and then we’ll return to the regular daily sending practice.
In the meantime, wishing you all joy,
Rosemerry
One Dedication
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flat tire, hope on April 6, 2021| Leave a Comment »
hope gets a flat tire—
stubborn, the heart
starts walking
The Tide is High
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Blondie, buoyancy, music, ocean, salt, singing on April 4, 2021| 8 Comments »
lyrics from "The Tide Is High" by John Holt, 1967
Something about the unsinkable reggae beat,
and in just three notes, I’m again my young self,
dancing alone in my bedroom,
singing as if I am one with the song,
as if it were written just for me,
I’m not the kind of girl
who gives up just like that, oh no, oh!
And singing it now on a Sunday afternoon,
I’m caught in a surprise riptide of joy
and start to lilt around the room,
though just moments ago I was weeping,
buried beneath the salt of worry,
but here I am, dancing alone,
hips rocking, my shoulders a rolling sea,
my voice surfing above the bright swell of trumpets.
The tide is high but I’m holding on.
Sometimes a song is a lifeline,
not because it pulls me out of the water,
but because it tosses me deeper in,
and I feel I’m no longer trapping myself
in a life the size of a teacup—
no, in this moment I am oceanic,
an Atlantic of joy, a Pacific of wonder
vast enough to hold everything,
and the tide is high
and all that salt only makes me more buoyant
as I play in the generous waves.