Forgive me if, as we wade through
December’s blue shadows,
if, as we pull the wood toboggan
across the basin of field,
if, as we wander through spruce,
as we traverse the crystal petals
of hoar frost, forgive me if, on this most
perfect day when I am so deeply
in love with my girl and my husband
and the day itself, forgive me if
as we cut down the finest,
most symmetrical Christmas tree
we’ve ever found, if in the midst
of beauty and luck and laughter and joy
I also feel inside me the ache
for the boy who would now
be a man who is not
with us here. Forgive me.
It’s all so beautiful. And still
this sorrow. How they mix together
like vinegar and pure water—
completely dissolved into each other.
I couldn’t begin to tell you what it means,
this tear.
Archive for December, 2024
Of Course I Am Grateful, And
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Christmas, feeling it all, grief, joy on December 12, 2024| 10 Comments »
The Goose’s Sister
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fable, greed, treasure on December 11, 2024| 6 Comments »
They loved those golden eggs,
that farmer and his wife,
loved how they glittered in the sun
as if they were sun itself.
They loved the new clothes,
the new barn, the new sharp knives
they could buy with those daily golden eggs.
They loved the great luck of not needing
to work so hard,
loved how those eggs changed the way others
thought of them. Loved the way
it changed the way
they thought of themselves.
But I, I loved the goose,
loved the golden cluck of her,
how it glittered in my ears
when she called to me.
I loved the sparkling soul of her,
how she gave and gave of herself every day.
How she moved through the barnyard
same as any of the rest of us who laid eggs
with ordinary albumin, ordinary yolks.
And her ordinary heart, and her ordinary
guts, I loved, those, too.
After she died, the farmer and his wife
were left with nothing but shame.
But she left me her treasure—
how it glitters through my tears.
Now that she is nowhere, she is everywhere.
her magic more real than ever.
Everything that shines
reminds me of her.
Generous Assumptions
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged armor, buddha, freedom, generous assumptions, self-protection on December 9, 2024| 16 Comments »
I would like to open my heart to you
and keep it open, but the truth is
sometimes all it takes is a glance,
or the lack of a glance, or a certain tone,
or a serrated word, and instantly the heart
puts on its armor, which is something like
a coat of porcupine quills, only
the quills go inward, too, and the instant
I wear it, I am aware of how much it hurts
to wear it. How in that moment when I seek
to protect myself, I wound myself.
What if I believed you are doing the best you can
considering the forces that have shaped you?
What if I listened past your words, looked through
your actions to see how you, too, feel threatened?
The Buddha said we are always moving
toward or away from freedom.
Could I, in that moment before the prickly coat
has started doing its prickly work,
could I move toward freedom
by refusing to put it on? Could I choose instead
the silken robe of generous assumptions,
the one that allows for compassion, connection,
even kindness toward you, toward myself?
Already, just thinking about it being possible,
I notice a softening, a curiosity about how I might
change not you, but myself. Already, I feel
how fluid this robe is, how gently it swirls around me,
how strong its fibers are, how freeing it is, cool
and breezy, this gift to myself.
Request
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, generous assumption, love, trust on December 8, 2024| 11 Comments »
I’m thinking of a woodland chapel
just beyond town standing tall
and straight as it can. Though
the floorboards sag and creak,
its doors open to receive whatever enters,
be it resistance or praise.
Its walls have witnessed
such laughter, such sorrow.
And the songs sung here for years
are now as integral to the structure
as the rafters. This is a place
made of love. I have found my way
again and again into its sanctuary.
I have knelt here to pray in ways
no one has taught me, prayers that rise
natural and primal as moan, as sigh,
never knowing what to expect except
that I will be safe here, that I belong.
Is it possible to make of the heart
such a generous space? A place
that generous, that sacred?
Make of my heart a woodland chapel
just beyond town standing tall and straight
as it can, a place you can enter
somehow certain you are wholly loved
no matter what you do.
I want to offer you refuge here.
Will you trust me to give that to you?
For the Heartbroken
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged angel, feeling, song on December 8, 2024| 19 Comments »
I don’t know if there are angels,
but if there are, do they weep for us?
With all the beauty they know could be,
do they weep for all the pain we sow,
weep each time we hurt the world?
I don’t know if there are angels,
but sometimes when my own tears come,
I imagine the angels gather me
in their great and tireless arms,
and their tears mix with mine as they whisper,
That’s right, dear, feel everything.
We feel it all, too. That is why we sing.
When we gather to wonder about the sacred,
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cloth, sacred, wonder, worth on December 7, 2024| 7 Comments »
we begin as separate scraps of cloth,
squares left on the seamstress’s floor.
Perhaps we believe we have nothing to offer
because we are not more whole.
Wonder becomes the needle.
The sacred is green thread.
Communion fills the seams.
And who, or what, is the seamstress?
Of course, we were confused
about our worth. But my god,
it is beautiful when we can’t help but see
how essential we are—the material of us
gathered into the grand cloth.
It is painful to be pierced in the joining.
No one wants to know this.
And yet each time we wonder together,
and wonder, and wonder,
we learn again just how we fit,
how integral we are, how surely
the cloth needs us all.
Lullaby for the World
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged children, Christmas, manger on December 5, 2024| 7 Comments »
All the world is a manger.
The snow-bright field and the parking lot,
the quiet woods, the city smog,
the cold alley and the garden bed,
the streets of war, the river bend.
Everywhere, a chance for what is holy
to be born. And how do we treat
this manger? And if a holy child
were born here now, would we know?
Would we see the signs of blessedness
past the neon, through the smoke?
How would we greet this holy child?
All the world is manger.
And when will we remember
every child born is holy?
No Wonder I Woke Singing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, friendship, grief, singing on December 5, 2024| 11 Comments »
for Donna
I saw you last night in my dream.
We were singing, of course.
The strange part is we were floating
in inner tubes in your home
which was flooded. I was worried,
but you didn’t seem bothered.
The smile never left your face.
The water was clear and we could see
to the bottom where the rugs
and chairs and tables were still in place.
We paddled around the room
and sang with our friends. God,
it was good to sing with you again,
me still here in the flood of the world
and you teaching me to sing
through it all. Teaching me
smiling is still possible. Teaching me
even the weight of grief can float.
One Listening
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Emily Scott Robinson, music on December 4, 2024| 3 Comments »
—for e.s.r.
I slip inside her voice
as if into the clearest spring—
even my heartache is sparkling
I Was Swept Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged broom, cliche, dust, force, surrender on December 2, 2024| 2 Comments »
I was swept away,
he said, and I imagined
the size of the broom
that could gather me up
as if I were so much dust,
which I am. I imagined
whose great hand
would wield that broom.
And what else might
get caught up in that sweep?
And would I feel joy, or sheer terror,
or both, as I was whisked
from the world I know?
I was swept away, he said,
and what part of me longed
to hide beneath the couch,
fearful of such unmooring?
And what part of me
was jealous of him,
that darn near threw itself
into the path of that broom
just to feel that deeply moved,
that unable to resist the force,
that unable to do anything
but say yes to the world
and ride on that trajectory,
waving good bye to whoever
it was I thought I once knew.
When Everything Has Been Stripped Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, ice floe, loss, surrender on December 1, 2024| 5 Comments »
It’s like when the ice floe
moves through the river bed
ripping out any ice
winter has set, until
the whole channel is
roil and rush and wild
upheaval. I remember
what that was like
after he died—
when hours, days,
whole months, were
stripped of all skin
and all that was left
was the naked, beating heart.
I thought that was what it meant
to be stripped, but then,
I remember the first time
I knew for sure if I could have
my boy back, I wouldn’t.
Not if the world stayed the same.
It was a useless bargain,
anyway. But I knew
it was selfish to wish
him back to this world
to ease my own pain.
That was the moment
my whole emptied being
understood there was
more to lose. And I don’t know
if we could say that I chose it
or that life chose it for me.
I was standing in the drive
beneath the evergreen tree.
Everything changed then
when even my useless desire
to bargain with death
was stripped from me.
Today as the ice floe
tears through the canyon,
I listen as it alters
the landscape. Trunks of trees
bash against the rocks.
The rocks themselves tumble
in cold, thick waves.
Nothing to be done,
save surrender to the tumult.
Inside me, my heart beats, untamed.
Yes, I think. That is
exactly what it was like.
The Apprentice
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cat, learning, slowness on December 1, 2024| 18 Comments »
I would like to receive direct training
from my cat in which I learn to move slowly
from room to room in search of pools of sunlight,
learn to immerse myself in a new rhythm
that has everything to do with darkness and warmth
and nothing at all to do with a clock. And purr about it.
Purr because purring feels so good in the body.
I want to restore my connection with silence,
to let something small, like a ribbon, completely
captivate my attention. Want to be utterly
absorbed by the way light moves. I want more skill
in being curious about my own wildness,
to be less civilized, more alive. For her part,
the cat seems disinterested in this new arrangement.
She rubs against my leg before wandering off to nap.
I follow her, letting my shoulder graze the wall.
Can you go slower? I ask myself as I move newly
through space. It feels ancient, this pace.
Nothing like the bustle I normally keep.
I let myself move toward curling in,
toward sleep, and for a dreamy, real moment,
I know slowness as a primitive right,
an invitation to intimacy with the world,
the kind of skill that can’t be rushed.
The cat nuzzles into my side.
And for a moment, some emptiness
I hadn’t known was there is filled.