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Archive for December, 2024

When Everything Has Been Stripped Away

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , 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.
 

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The Apprentice

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , 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.

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