for Dave
From this glass of chilled apricot wine,
bottled just days ago,
I drink the long days of summers past,
a potent sweetness that comes
only with time. I drink the memory
of the hands that harvested the fruit,
the memory of patience,
memory of soft rain and deep blue.
If I could bottle this day,
would there be enough sweetness in it
to make a wine I could savor?
Were there enough moments
when I fell in love with the world?
A laugh with a friend, scent of pine needles,
cold shower on hot skin,
and this glass of apricot wine.
Could I learn, as this wine has,
how to let goodness develop,
how to invite the taste of something wonderful
that wasn’t originally here?
In this wine, hints of pineapple, lemon,
plum. By what magic do they appear?
Oh world, teach me that patience.
Teach me to trust in time, to trust
in magic I don’t understand,
to improve with age, like apricot wine.
Archive for July, 2021
Apricot Wine
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged patience, time, wine on July 30, 2021| 5 Comments »
One Not Lost
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged lost, mushroom hunting, walking on July 28, 2021| Leave a Comment »
charting our course
using mushroom rings—
earthbound constellations
The Waking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, river, waking, waking up on July 26, 2021| 2 Comments »
When we wake, all people are rivers—
though some are torrents and some
mere trickles, though some break down
obstacles and some slowly meander.
We move from our beds through the banks
of the world, our lives following the course
of the day. Our streams merge with the streams
of others. We are, every day, more each other
and still somehow ourselves. If only we could trust
our uniting currents as unthinkingly as the rivers
follow gravity—always with the least amount
of resistance. How long will we pretend
we are separate? How long before we find ourselves
joined in the communion of the sea, all our waters
one water, every waking an invitation.
Somewhere You Feel Free
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aster, belonging, hiking, mountains, widlflowers on July 26, 2021| Leave a Comment »
You belong among the wildflowers.
—Tom Petty, “Wildflowers”
Standing alone
in a high and steep meadow
surrounded by a million million
pale purple asters,
a person might be,
at least for a moment,
a many petaled thing,
might know the blue sky
in a new blue way;
might want to visit the self
as curious as a bee
stepping into the golden center
of things. What luck
to climb into beauty,
to stumble into
the self greater than the self,
to forget for a moment that worry,
that burden, that loss,
and simply purple, to wildly
purple, to purple with abandon,
to purple without thought,
to humbly purple,
to purple.
Transplanting the Nasturtiums
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flowers, garden, resilience, self talk on July 25, 2021| Leave a Comment »
They don’t like it. For a day,
maybe two, they’ll hang limp
in the beds. I try to talk them
through it, try to tell them
it will be okay. But no one
wants to hear it will be okay
when it feels as if
the world is ending,
especially not nasturtiums—
nasturtiums can’t hear,
which makes me wonder
how much of what I say
to comfort others is really
intended to comfort myself.
In two days, the nasturtiums
will be upright and bright.
And I’ll praise them, tell them
I knew they could do it,
tell them how resilient they are.
Potica
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bread, daughter, food, grandmother, memory, parents on July 23, 2021| 2 Comments »
Sitting in Colorado
I think of my parents sitting
in Illinois,
how tonight in different
kitchens together we savor
the Slovenian sweet bread
of my father’s childhood,
the sweet bread
his mother would make—
savor not just the taste
but the memory of the taste,
the paper thin crust,
the ground walnuts,
the honey.
Savor not just the loaf
but the memory of the hands
that once made the loaf,
the happiness as we ate it,
the communion in the joy.
Tonight, I break the bread
into tiny pieces, eat it slow,
imagine us at the same
loving table now
and years and years ago.
We are alone, not alone.
The bread tastes
like family, like home.
If you are unfamiliar with this Eastern European nutroll delicacy (pronounced puh-TEET-suh), you can read more about it here.
Two Hours upon the Stage
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, macbeth, personal growth, shakespeare on July 23, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Look like th' innocent flower, But be the serpent under ’t. —Lady Macbeth in Macbeth, Act I, Scene V, by William Shakespeare Again tonight Macbeth kills Duncan, stabs him in his sleep as he has done for four hundred twenty-five years, as he’s destined to do for how many hundreds of years more, never able to break from what’s been written, ever a victim of his flaws. As I walk away from the blood-stained stage into the warm night, I notice how with every step across the damp grass my story is still being written, notice how unfinished I am— a flawed human yet in service to the human I will become. Praise the power to evolve, the chance to choose to be flower and not the snake beneath it. Praise the power to walk away from the script, to walk away from prophesy, to walk into the next scene as it comes. Praise the chance to change, to transform, to turn while the candle, though brief, still burns.
The Apology Speaks
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, patience on July 21, 2021| 2 Comments »
How long ago did you forget about me?
I used to bloom in your mind like bindweed,
twisting and lacing through every thought,
but you were too afraid then to say my
two small words. I’m sorry. You wanted
to say them. You meant them. You knew
how much power I have. Even so, you knew
I wasn’t enough. And you knew
I couldn’t be heard in the windstorm
that raged for months. It’s quieter, now,
so quiet I’d think you could hear me knocking
inside your heart. When did you let
the blur of the days obscure me? I’m here,
waiting to be given voice. Though neglected,
I am no less important. Ah, there, I felt you
brush up against a petal, soft as forgiveness,
deep rooted as shame. I’m here, waiting. I’m here.
Perennial
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flower, friendship, kindness, sweetness on July 20, 2021| 1 Comment »
Sometimes even a small sweetness—
a kind word, a kind act—
is robust enough to take root,
and though its perfume soon fades
and its petals wither,
the roots persist so years later
when you least expect it,
there in a forgotten field,
or perhaps in your own well-tended yard,
you catch the scent of sweetness
and follow it until you find again
the fragrant bloom of it, not at all
diminished by time. No, maybe sweeter
because it was forgotten.
Sweeter because with roots like that,
you now trust it will come back again.
Things That Can Be Found
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged finding on July 19, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Your own way, of course,
though that will always
be lost again.
Your keys. Your balance.
Your groove.
You can find your joy.
Your jean size. Your niche.
Your face shape. Your rhythm.
Your love.
Find your rapper name, like Da Real Ro$e,
or Rosormous G,
or Inspectah Jazz.
Your happy place. Your inner peace.
Your people. Your tribe.
Your wings.
You can find your career.
Your spirit animal. Your voice.
Your senator.
Your song.
But some things that are lost
are lost for good. Some that go
are gone.
Like a moment ago.
Like yesterday.
Like last week, last month,
last year.
Can you find now?
Find yes? Find truth?
Can you find (yet again)
why you are here?
Seeing Clearly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged eyes, forgiveness, gaze, humility, love on July 18, 2021| 4 Comments »
Forgive me for wanting to fix you.
As if we could be anything
but who we are.
Forgive me for every time
I have looked at you with hawkish eyes,
eyes with talons, eyes that hunt.
Forgive me for thinking I know
what you need, for thinking I am right.
For scrutinizing, for judging,
for using my gaze to build walls.
I want to look at you with eyes
as soft as the light in the field after dawn.
Want to meet you with eyes
as benevolent as rain. Want to see you
with eyes as open as sky, open as innocence.
Want to see myself this way, too—
then, it is easier to soften, to lean in, to bloom.
This is how I want to look at you—
not with eyes that fix, but eyes
that dismantle defensiveness,
eyes that say let us meet in our flawedness,
eyes unstintingly generous,
a gaze that says you are safe with me,
a gaze born of humility, a gaze made of wings.
No Slam Dunk, But
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged basketball, failure, second chance, sports on July 17, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Every day, a second chance—
as if all of life before has been one big shot
and today, I get to try again. Get to
forgive. Get to be kind. Get to let go,
be open, be gentle with myself.
Get to learn, unlearn, play again.
I think of Michael Jordan, and though
I know nothing of basketball, I know
he missed more than nine thousand shots
and lost nearly three hundred games and missed
the winning shot twenty-six times.
I know Michael Jordan was named by the NBA
as the greatest player of all time.
Every morning, though I can’t dribble
or shoot any more than I can flap my arms
and fly, I step onto the court of the new day
and let myself take the next shot. And miss.
And take the next shot again. Every day,
a new foul. Every day I want to argue with the ref.
Every day, I realize it does no good to argue.
At the end of the day, I see how I am the basket,
the ball, the bounce, the pass, the MVP,
the sub, the booing, the cheers.
I am the one who keeps score. And I am
the one who marvels when,
sweet miracle, the score is reset to zero,
and I’m given another chance—how is it?—
to make the winning shot.
What’s in a Name
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autobiography, name on July 16, 2021| 4 Comments »
after “Wunderlich” by Mark Wunderlich
It’s not the aromatic herb that means remembrance.
It’s spelled R-O-S-E-M-E-R-R-Y, which means
it is almost always misspelled by others,
even though I spell it out. Even though I say,
Merry, as in merry go round—
as in Merry Christmas. I give up often
on the spelling because I have learned
I’m happier that way.
It means granddaughter of Rose, who
was one of sixteen children in Illinois,
who cared for all her siblings and so never
finished school herself. Rose who cleaned
homes and vacationed in Vegas,
who waltzed and wore red nail polish
and made fancy Slovenian nut bread
she slathered with soft butter.
It means granddaughter of Merry
who planted vast gardens and drank
Bloody Marys and arranged the flowers
for the church altar on Sundays. Merry
who had a gift for painting and sang
soprano in the choir. It means “too sincere.”
It means “cries when she says I love you.”
It means “can’t understand sarcasm without help.”
It means “unable to wink with the left eye”
and “afraid of driving Red Mountain Pass.”
The name was once listed on the gym wall
in Pewaukee Elementary School
as the reigning toe touching champion,
because Rosemerry also means short legs,
overly flexible hamstrings, and long arms.
In the mid-’90s, McDonald’s chose the name
for a Happy Meal Toy—a pink-haired sky dancer
with long green legs. Now, the name is found
on recipe cards around the world
for ginger cookies, zucchini pie and dark rye bread.
It’s carved in an aspen tree on Lookout Mountain
and is not tattooed on anyone’s arm.
There are no Greek myths about Rosemerry—
no stories in which she is chased
by a god and then turned into a bird or a tree,
though sometimes I hear Rosemerry stories
that sound like myths to me.
The name means “unable to wear clothes with patterns.”
It means “quitter of ballet.”
It means “always two hours shy of an extra five minutes.”
Recently, a friend pointed out it’s nearly homophonous
with “rows merrily” as in “down the stream,”
but unfortunately it’s also synonymous with seasickness,
carsickness, airsickness and now a near constant
feeling of being rocked, even on dry land.
And though it does not mean “easy going,”
it does mean “loyal, devoted.”
It means “stubborn.”
It means “willing to try again.”
It means a girl who wanted to grow into her name.
It means a woman who carries her grandmothers with her,
remembers them everywhere she goes.
The Night Before My Daughter’s 13th Birthday
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged choices, daughter, mother, parenting on July 14, 2021| Leave a Comment »
If I could do it all again,
I would—every blooming bit of it.
Every bout of pink eye,
every snotty nose, every
late night waking, every
single reading of Good Night Moon,
every fairy house, every
drive to every ballet class,
every singalong to the entire
soundtrack of Hamilton,
every wobble and stumble
and blunder and lapse
to arrive at this very moment
when we lie on her bed
in the dark and talk about
this miracle, this astonishing
life, and watch dumb videos
and curl into each other.
In every moment, a seed.
It surprises me now,
how beautiful the field.
At the Houston Zoo
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged belonging, bird, home, nest, pigeon, zoo on July 13, 2021| 2 Comments »
Not the chuckwalla
nor the cheetah nor the capybara,
it was the pigeon
I couldn’t stop watching
as it sat on its nest
in the tall sturdy grass
beside the glassed-in walls
of the chimpanzees
with its fluffy grey chicks
tucked against its grey breast.
She looked as if she belonged
exactly where she was—oh
how I cherish that feeling.
An Elegy for the Lover
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged elegy, laurie wagner buyer, love, rain on July 13, 2021| 4 Comments »
for Laurie Wagner Buyer
I remember her handwritten letters—
her careful cursive telling
me about freezing the ripe plums
and the tree in the back yard
and sitting in the passenger seat
watching the world go by.
I remember walking with her
and admiring the sway
of her hips, her generous smile,
how everyone turned to watch her.
But most of all I remember
the way she loved to fall in love—
how she gave herself over so completely
to partnership. There are some
who love like virga—the rain
that falls but never reaches the land.
But she loved like a long steady rain—
the kind that seeps in slowly
and reaches the deepest roots.
The kind of rain that makes the whole world
glisten. The kind of rain
she might have written me about—
how it drizzles down the windows,
clings to the pane, how in every drop,
if you look, you can resee the world.
Dear friends, I am well aware there are two amazing Laurie Wagner Buyer poets. This one is about the Laurie Wagner Buyer who lived in Texas.