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Archive for September, 2022

Remembering

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 12, 2022| 7 Comments »


for Finn (9/11/04-8/14/21)


I threw rocks in the river today.
Not because I thrill to throw rocks,
but because I love to remember
how you thrilled to throw rocks.
How you squealed at the spray
and clapped your hands at the sound
of the quiescent surface being broken.

Your joy was the pure joy of life itself,
life that knows itself through tossing,
through splattering, through squealing,
life that longs to stand on the bank
and throw rock after rock after rock.
Joy was never in the rock itself,
it wasn’t even in the splash,

nor is there joy in the rocks today.
But there is joy in feeling close to you here.
Joy in the memory of you being so alive.
Joy in remembering your smile,
your hands flying up in delight.
Joy, even, in the longing for you.
I throw rock after rock. I remember.

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Three Poems in ONE ART: Spaciousness in Grief

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 11, 2022| 4 Comments »

How might openness, connection and compassion grow from grief? That’s what I explore in three poems published today in the wonderful ONE ART: a journal of poetry. In addition to our country’s history with 9/11, it would have been my son Finn’s 18th birthday today. For all who are grieving, my heart opens to yours. May we find spaciousness in our hearts for ourselves and each other.

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Emerging Form Podcast Finalist for International Women’s Podcasting Awards

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged on September 10, 2022| 2 Comments »

For the last few years, my wonderful friend Christie Aschwanden and I have been co-hosting a podcast on creative process, Emerging Form. We took a short break this summer, but we returned this week with an episode in which we talk about the past year and how creative practice has helped us in a time of uncertainty and trauma. To listen to this episode (episode 70), you can find our podcast on any popular podcast site (spotify, apple podcasts, etc), or here. https://emergingform.substack.com/p/episode-70-checking-in-one-year-later#details

We are, in specific, responding to a podcast recorded a year ago in which we speak about Christie’s father’s stroke and my son’s death by his own hand. That episode (Episode 50) can be found here. https://emergingform.substack.com/p/episode-50-creativity-in-times-of#details 

We just found out that that episode, 50, has made Emerging Form a finalist for the International Women’s Podcast Awards. Winners are announced September 29, 2022.

The main episodes are always free. If you become a member you also get bonus content every other week–for instance, this week, I will be doing a bonus episode on using metaphor as tool for meeting grief. 

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One Foreshadowing

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on September 10, 2022| 4 Comments »


still seeds in the ground
all those forests
we’ll someday walk through

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Life Lesson

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on September 9, 2022| 6 Comments »

Though the old snap peas dangle
dried and yellow on the dying vine,
and the lettuce, once tender,
has bolted and toughened,
and the kale, now blue,
is aphid-ridden,

the calendula, cosmos,
nasturtiums and marigolds
are in full-bloom and generous.
I fill the house with vases,
each bouquet a celebration
of great change.
It thrills me. Oh, summer,
you die so beautifully.

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Things that Turn

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 8, 2022| 6 Comments »

A new leaf,
a blind eye,
a disco ball,
the corner,
a key,
a page,
the hands of a clock,
the other cheek,
the milk,
a wrench,
a phrase,
the tables,
a turbine,
a deaf ear,
a trick,
your back,
the tide,
a screw,
heads, of course,
the earth itself,
and ever my thoughts
toward you.

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Offering Gentleness

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 7, 2022| 6 Comments »

Gentle is time to be gentle.
            —Ole Dalby, private correspondence


Gentle is time to be gentle,
   he writes, and I let myself
     fall into the cadence of his words

the way as a girl I once dreamt
   I could fall into a cloud—
     something soft beyond soft,

something infinitely calm.
   Gentle is time to be gentle,
     he writes, and though

my mind struggles to decipher it,
   my body instantly nestles
     into the tenderness of it,

as if he has wrapped each word
   in cumulonimbus, as if gentleness
     is the only obvious path, as if I, too,

might offer such gentleness
   to someone else with words
     spun of nimbostratus, with syllables

of cirrus, with thoughts as cushiony
   as the clouds we once drew as kids,
     those clouds we once lived in

before we were told we could not.

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In the Garden, Again

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 6, 2022| 7 Comments »




After breaking, after kneeling,
after raising my ripe fist, after
opening my palm, after
clenching it again, after running,
after hiding, after taking off
my masks, after stilling,
after shouting, after bargaining
with God, after crumpling
and cursing, after losing,
after song, after seeking,
after breath, after breath,
after breath,
I stand in the sunflowers
of early September
and watch as the bees weave
from one giant bloom to another,
and I, too, am sunflower,
tall-stemmed and face lifted,
shaped by the love of light
and the need for rain.
I stand here until some part of me
is again more woman than sunflower,
and she notices how,
for a few moments,
it was enough just to be alive.
Just to be alive, it was enough.

*

This poem was published in ONE ART: A Journal of Poetry on 9/11/22

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September Night

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on September 5, 2022| 12 Comments »




The mountain air forgets to be cold,
and my daughter and I walk in the dark
beside the river. I almost can’t see,
yet thanks to starlight,
we step over roots, over rocks.
There are moments,
even whole chapters of our lives,
when we understand how the smallest
bit of light makes a difference.  
Tonight, we are laughing,
singing as we go.
Trust, too, is a kind of light.
In this dark moment, it is all I see.

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One at the Film Festival

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on September 5, 2022| 7 Comments »



 
 
a happy ending, nice,
but what the heart most longs for—
the hairshirt of truth

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