Sometimes, like today,
when I have opened my heart so wide
that anything at all might fly in—
a sweetness or a curiosity—
sometimes when I am most expansive,
a sinister whisper comes.
It flutters through my blood,
shudders in my heart.
Then I find on the floor
a slender rectangle of light
and lie for a time in the warmth.
The sun soaks in through my skin,
and I invite it deeper in.
I soften.
I rest my hands on my belly, my chest,
Notice their weight,
how the simple rise of breath
is enough to lift them.
Outside, there are chickadees
calling to each other.
I imagine them calling to me.
Swee-tee. Swee-tee.
Oh, fear that I am too much,
oh, fear that I dare to be too big,
I am not surprised you showed up today.
But see how the sun showed up, too,
the enormous sun with its unfailing radiance,
the giant sun with its unstinting glow
the generous sun came
and met me on the floor
to remind me what I can do.
Archive for February, 2023
After Softening
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged big, fear, softening, sunshine on February 27, 2023| 8 Comments »
When She Was Afraid She Wasn’t Good Enough
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, black widow, curiosity, fear, spider on February 26, 2023| 16 Comments »
When fear scuttled through her thoughts
with its eight slender legs; when she recognized
the shiny black body, the bulbous abdomen;
when fear found all her corners and began
to weave inside her mind a home of steel-strong silk;
she did not try to befriend the fear.
Nor did she try to squash it,
though she had a sturdy book.
Not that she wasn’t afraid. In fact,
fear seemed reasonable, if she threatened the fear first.
Instead, as if she were her own sweet child,
she took herself by the hand
and walked right up to the web to explore—
noted the upper structural threads,
the tangle threads in the middle,
the vertical threads in the bottom designed to trap.
Every day she walked back to the web
and stared wide-eyed at the fear hanging upside down,
and then she’d leave and wander
in other rooms where there was low-angled light
the way Renoir might have painted it,
or rooms of flowers, or rooms of song,
rooms of laughter, rooms of starlight,
warm rooms with nothing in them at all.
Eventually she could predict where the fear would be.
Could walk right to its brand new web.
We couldn’t say she liked the fear there.
We couldn’t say she didn’t miss it when it left.
We could say she found a way not to feed it.
We could say that while it lived in her,
she found a way to meet it.
One Impossible Hug
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, death, hug, loss, love on February 25, 2023| 4 Comments »
my arms still recall
the slender stem of your body—
oh, sweet empty circumference
Ineffable
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flower, friendship, love, texting on February 24, 2023| 4 Comments »
—for Kayleen
I couldn’t name
the brilliant red flower
in full bloom,
couldn’t smell it
nor touch it,
but when my friend
sent me an image
of soft ruby petals
all dewy and open
there was no way
I couldn’t believe
in beauty—
and though I couldn’t
hear her velvety voice,
that made her message
no less true—
loving you—
so sitting in a room
alone
in the midst of miles
of snow and cold
I felt so sweetly tethered
to a world beyond
the world I know—
and long after
her message arrived
I continue to believe
in something wonderful
and sweet,
something true
I can’t quite touch,
I continue to believe
in what words
try to point to,
words like beauty,
like friendship, like love.
Tobogganing with My Teenage Daughter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, mother, play, slow, snow, speed, time, winter on February 24, 2023| 7 Comments »
Perhaps I wish for something dangerous—
a rush, a breakneck ride, a snow-drunk risk.
Instead, my daughter and I slide the toboggan
down the drive with a languid, slow-motion
sluggishness. And we laugh as we urge
the wooden sled forward, creeping
down the hill. After a few laps, the run
is fast enough we can build a small jump
at the bottom, but it’s more of a bump
than a launch. What is it in the heart
that loves a surge, a swell of excitement,
a dance with danger? Why is it fun
to be out of control when the stakes are low?
Oh, my girl and I know, we know what it’s like
when the stakes are high. No wonder
we laugh as we slide at the pace of a stroll.
We know what it’s like to be out of control.
We know. I hold her by the waist as we barely move.
And part of me longs for speed. And part of me
is grateful to move in a way that lets me hold her
a little bit, even just a few seconds, longer.
In a Time of Much Doing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged busyness, pandemic, remembering, stillness, time on February 22, 2023| 8 Comments »
Teach us to sit still.
—T.S. Eliot, “Ash Wednesday, Part 6”
How soon I seem to have forgotten
how to be still, how to not plan,
how to step out into the day
and let the world itself write
the story of how a morning becomes
an afternoon becomes a night
becomes a woman.
How soon I seem to have forgotten
the value of not doing,
the gift of unscheduling,
the blessing of dipping my toes into the stream
of no time, then wading in full body,
where I remember I am part of an infinite story
at the same time I relearn how fragile it is,
this life.
How soon I forgot I could change it all.
Even now, I could be still again.
I could choose silence.
Even now.
That Time
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged challenge, snow, storm, winter on February 21, 2023| 11 Comments »
It was like driving through a winter storm
for years, day after week after month
after night after morning of white-knuckled,
stiff-shouldered worry. No tracks to follow,
no sign of a centerline, no rails on the edge,
and where are the snowplows, and what
good is a map when you can’t read the signs?
There were whole months of white out, driving snow-blind
and slow, whole seasons of running the wipers on high
in an attempt to see just one inch further.
It was icy roads, skidding with the baby in back.
It was wishing I could ask someone else
to take the wheel. It was frozen-slick and slippery
with no studded snows. It was sliding with no brakes.
It was what I woke to everyday
and what I dreamed at night.
If there was beauty, I was too afraid to see it.
I wish I could tell you I was brave.
It was slow to change,
like a spring that arrives only to leave again.
One day the drifts were gone and the roads
were dry and the sky was wide blue and clear.
But it wasn’t like snow, was it?
Some things don’t just melt away.
Some storms transform the landscape forever.
Some storms transform the driver.
Sitting in the Driveway with My Daughter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, daughter, mother, music, paradox on February 20, 2023| 8 Comments »
You share with me the song
that makes you cry.
Oh strange alchemy
of connection—
as I tune my heart to yours
what at first seemed dark
and moonless
begins to reveal
its tender light.
On Prayer
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged prayer, silence, sound, wayne muller on February 19, 2023| 12 Comments »
for Mark Primavesi
Prayer is what happens when we listen, and wait, beneath words, for the outline of heaven and earth to emerge.
—Wayne Muller, “Nourished by Prayer”
Today prayer is the silence
in the snow-deep meadow.
It’s the gurgle of the ice-choked river
that cannot be heard unless
I am completely still. Today,
prayer is not to, it’s not for,
it’s something I am
more than something I do.
Prayer is even the sound
of the logging trucks on the highway
as they brake rounding the corner.
It’s the rapid shush, shush, shush
of my skis in the track as I climb the hill.
It’s the sizzle of onions in the oil.
It’s the hitch in my breath before I cry.
I’m astonished, today, to find
there is nothing that isn’t prayer
when I am aware it’s an invitation
to be completely here, to open;
it’s a call to meet it all
with the love that asks nothing from me
except that I give it and receive it.
Every single thing can be prayer.
Even the siren blaring by.
Even my own familiar voice
as I listen into the silences
for whatever words come next.
All at Once
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breakfast, dream, grief, joy, mess, mother on February 18, 2023| 17 Comments »
Before I woke, my son and I
were eating breakfast—
a beautiful brown-crusted boule,
warm from the oven,
and he was slicing it and making
a giant mess of it,
the bread tearing and smushing,
and we were laughing—
his head was thrown back
with the joy of making a mess,
carefree and goofy and foolish.
Crumbs everywhere.
God, how I loved him
as he smashed a hardboiled egg
onto the uneven slice.
How I loved him
as he stuffed his mouth
with the botched bread and egg.
How I loved him as we laughed
and laughed and laughed.
How I loved him when I woke
and he was dead,
his absence making the love
no less beautiful, no less true,
our laughter no less mirthful
in the empty room.
To Those Who Are Comforting a Woman Who Lost a Child Today
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged advice, child, friendship, grief, loss, mother on February 18, 2023| 17 Comments »
There is nothing you can fix.
The only thing to do is love her.
Tomorrow, next week,
there might be laundry.
Or mail. Or a meal.
Or a phone call
when she will need for you
to be near her
when she tells the other person
her child is dead.
Hold her hand, or,
if she needs space,
don’t hold it.
Say her name.
Say the name of her child.
Walk with her, or sit still.
Pray for her when you’re not with her,
even if she doesn’t pray,
even if you don’t know how,
even if the words
feel like foreign objects in your mouth.
Light a candle.
Give her your heart.
it’s the only thing that matters,
though it will not ease her
nor help her sleep
nor solve a damn thing.
Though there is no hope
you can make things right.
Though she may push you away.
Though anything you do
will be woefully insufficient, love her.
With your whole being, love her.
It will not be enough.
It is the only thing.
Tell her, if you can, you love her.
But if you can’t,
just love her.
Just love her.
Eternity in an Hour
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Joi Sharp, love, nothing, peace on February 16, 2023| 13 Comments »
with gratefulness to Joi Sharp
Not just to know the self
but to know the nothing
that surrounds it, to feel
how vast that nothing is,
how inside that nothing
is more nothing, and
inside that more nothing
is even more nothing.
To know that. To feel
the self held by infinite
nothing, to feel the nothing
held by the self. How quiet
everything is then. How
easy it is to believe
peace is not only possible,
it is already here. How
beautiful to meet this
truth with another.
Sweet paradox: imbued
with all this lavish nothing,
the moment overspills
with love. It’s everything.
(title from “Auguries of Innocence” by William Blake)
One Inexplicable Lightness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dawn, forgiveness on February 15, 2023| 4 Comments »
the way sun arrives—
first as a suggestion of light,
then startlingly brilliant
so comes this revelation—
I forgive you
Though I Respond to My Name, I Am Aware
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, love, name on February 14, 2023| 12 Comments »
how completely the love of others
has made me who I am. How the work
of their hands is more me
than the swirls of my own fingerprints.
I am the project of love,
the product of compassion,
the sum total of kindness
and sympathy. Of course,
the cruelty, too. Of course,
the ugliness, the shame.
But it is love that rises in me,
like yeast in the living bread.
It is love I’ve received
that stands when I stand,
love that responds
when you say my name.
*
Friends, I have to tell you I went to the most powerful poetry reading today. Organized by a local high school girl, there were high school girls, teachers and community members who read in support of Shatter the Silence. Poems by Joy Harjo, Maya Angelou, Audrey Lorde, Ani deFranco, Marge Piercy and more … and it was so deeply moving to see the courage, the engagement, the support for each other. Conversations are happening now I never dreamt could happen–about empowerment, deep listening, meeting what is painful and celebrating what is good. There is support in the school from teachers and administration to have these conversations. It was absolutely heart-opening and soul nourishing and I am so amazed by this generation of young women. Change is happening, real, beautiful, just, fierce, loving change.
Hearth
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fire, love on February 13, 2023| 4 Comments »
A fireplace is made for flame.
Even when dark, empty, cold,
its purpose is unchanging.
It was made for flare, for flicker,
for blaze, for light; it was made
to cast warmth, to hold glow.
The soul is a kind of fireplace.
Love itself the flame.
Even in our chillest hour,
it’s clear what we are made for.
What the Dark Might Say
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, love, night on February 12, 2023| 4 Comments »
What I love tonight about candlelight,
is the way it teaches me about the night—
how the night presses against the windows,
how it cradles the room in a dusky embrace.
How the dark is not like a palm that,
when pressed to a chest,
must stop when it meets the skin—
no, the dark is more like love
that moves through any boundaries
to touch everything.
If there is a longing in me
to be anywhere but here,
it does not show up.
It has lost its feet
and does not try to run away.
Tonight, the darkness offers to smooth
the parts of me that want to run, to hide.
Tender as a womb, the dark kisses my fears.
It says, Sweetheart, I will hold you.
No matter how small your light tonight, I will hold you.
Evanescent
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, ephemeral, grace, shadow on February 12, 2023| 8 Comments »
For a few minutes a day
for a few days of the year,
the sun shines low through the window
and casts a shadow high on the wall,
as this morning, when I see
the shape of six chrysanthemums
splayed in diffuse gray
just below the ceiling
and I put down my work to marvel.
It’s simple science, really,
how opaque objects
placed in the path of light rays
do not let the light pass through.
But there’s something so beautiful
and temporary
about the giant spectral blooms,
so I do what the heart asks me to do—
I watch as the ephemeral bouquet
intensifies, then fades away
until the wall is just a wall
and I am just a woman
beside six purple chrysanthemums
who was found by a moment of grace.
Three Healing Conversations
Posted in Uncategorized on February 11, 2023| 3 Comments »
In my most recent podcast on Emerging Form, Christie Aschwanden and I speak with author Florence Williams about awe, nature and creative practice. It’s a weave of science and mystery, and we touch on trauma and healing. I hope you’ll listen. It’s free, anywhere you listen to podcasts, episode 81. Or you can find it on your computer here.
*
On Sunday night, I will be part of a love poem program online, More Love, part of the Gratitude Cafe series hosted by Kayleen Asbo and Mythica. The first hour will be reading love poems by many authors (Mary Oliver, Rumi, Billy Collins, Wendell Berry, Maya Angelou, Derek Walcott and more) about many kinds of love beyond romantic love. The next hour, I will lead a poetry playshop for you to write your own love poems to the world. Please join us. Sliding scale, including free if you need it. To register and for more info, click here.
*
March 11 & 12 I will be leading a two-day online retreat, The Big Reframe: Poetry as a Tool for Re-seeing the World. It’s full immersion into a poetic exploration of what it is to be alive–seeing through our old stories, changing our relationship with the world, becoming our own narrators. Come deep dive with me! For more information, a video, and to register, click here.
One Inspiration
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged clouds, dissolution, sky, soul on February 11, 2023| 2 Comments »
white clouds blown by wind
losing shape to become one with blue—
what a soul can do
What Goes Unspoken
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged memory, sexual assault, speaking out on February 10, 2023| 40 Comments »
Hi friends–before you read the poem, a little note about content.
It’s Teen Love & Consent week here in Telluride, and lots of difficult conversations are happening about statistics and setting boundaries. At the same time, some difficult news about teen sexual assault has been in our local papers. And so this poem was born. Because it’s so far out of the realm of my normal content, I wanted to give you the ability to not read the poem. It’s not graphic, but it’s not easy to read either. It’s farther down the page.
I realize as I send this what a roller coaster you signed up for when you subscribed to the daily poems, and I thank you for meeting me every day with the all of it. It means so much to me, your presence, thank you.
with great respect,
Rosemerry
What Goes Unspoken
with gratefulness for the girls who spoke out
On the table, the tulips are opening,
splaying in effortless pink delight,
an homage to how soft things can bring so much pleasure,
and I think of how you once scolded me for picking flowers,
saying it was better to leave them as they were.
That was years ago,
when I traveled to see you on Cape Cod.
You were a tennis pro
and I was the girl who thought I could come to love you.
I had gone for a walk in the woods
and picked you a small bouquet.
Violets, perhaps, and something small and white.
I didn’t know then that I was a tulip.
We’d flirted. You seemed kind.
I never thought you would—
never imagined I was—
never dreamt when I said no you wouldn’t—
Mostly I left my body.
I remember staring at the windowsill while you—
I’d put the flowers in a jar. They were purple and white.
How could you defend the flowers and yet—
I didn’t open for you and you cut—
I was a stem when I left.
It’s been years since I remembered you,
but there was an article in the paper this week
about a boy here who—
Eleven girls spoke out.
How many girls did you—
I never said a word.
I have a girl now, too.