There is the moment when the woman
is deciding what to make for dinner—
a tofu curry with beet greens from the garden?
Or maybe guacamole with all those avocados
she bought on sale. When she reaches
for the greens, that’s the kind of moment
when a Greek goddess doesn’t appear beside her
and shake her head as if everything depends
on the woman choosing the guac.
Something wonderful about a choice
with so little consequence. Red socks or blue?
The low green vase or the clear vase from Finland?
The woman has read about the butterfly effect,
trusts a life—in fact all of civilization—is built
on every smallest choice and inaction.
But tonight there is peace in the way she presses
water from the tofu, then slides the white cubes
into the pan. Six seven, as the kids would say.
The scent of turmeric fills the room.
If a goddess were to show up, she’d probably
just ask for a glass of sauv blanc and join
the woman for a bowl of curry. They would
sit at the kitchen table for hours, laughing
as the cats chase each other across the room,
talking about the three-hour movie they just saw.
Tomorrow, the choice. But tonight,
the goddess nods at the sunflowers on the table.
“I like your low green vase,” she says.
Archive for August, 2026
The Night Before the Big Decision
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged athena, butterfly effect, choices, decision, food, goddess, odyssey on August 19, 2026| Leave a Comment »
The Fall
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged sonnet, time on August 18, 2026| 14 Comments »
There is a slip of time before the foot
missteps and twists and breaks, that moment when
the bone’s still whole, the woman still upright.
And from that slip, well, then there’s only after.
After, when the bone is cast. After,
when the child has left. After, when
the callous words can’t be unsaid, the missing
ring can’t be unlost, the train can never
be unmissed. And now, and now, and now
is both before and after and a tip-
ping point on which we cannot pause or stand.
But if we did trip off the tip of time,
what would we find beneath it all? A chance
to play in the infinite? Or would we simply fall and fall and fall?
One in the Garden
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, dahlia, garden on August 18, 2026| 4 Comments »
so soon the pink dahlia petals
begin to shrivel and dry,
and look at these hands
that cut away what is dead,
they, too, are dahlia
Memento Mori While Watching the String Quartet
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chamber music, memento mori, mortality on August 16, 2026| 13 Comments »
The way the cellist smiled at the first violinist,
that is the way I want to smile when I die,
a joyful smile that says, “I am all in on this song;
and here, let me now toss the melody to you.”
The Future Writes to Rosemerry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged epistle, future, letter on August 15, 2026| 4 Comments »
I know I like to keep my secrets close. It’s who I am.
That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doesn’t mean
I don’t appreciate it when you plant larkspur
and roses, lavender bushes and apricot trees,
as if you believe in investing in a world years from now.
Of course, I appreciate the way you call your congressmen
to tell them about the world you believe we could live in.
I love every time you put a letter in the mail with a stamp,
every time you learn a new skill or make a ten-year-plan.
How beautiful you are to me when you dream.
It’s lonely here, of course. Everyone always coming toward
but never arriving. I’m not complaining.
Being the future has its perks. Like infinite potential.
Like hope. I know it’s hard sometimes to believe
you will ever get through this. But haven’t you learned by now
that just because you don’t see the way forward
doesn’t mean they way doesn’t exist?
That is the only promise I can make you, sweetheart.
You can’t see the path. But here it is.
Because Today Vulnerable Feels Alive
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, hiking, rain, vulnerability on August 15, 2026| 4 Comments »
It felt so good to walk in the rain,
to walk in the rain and not put
on the raincoat I’d carried for
over ten miles, to not put on
the raincoat and let the rain
soak into my sleeves, my
shoes, my thoughts, my
words, let rain soak in
and realize with each
squishy step each
soggy word what
a gift it is to not
always protect
myself from
the world.
Five Years Ago
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, grief, mother, past, son, suicide on August 13, 2026| 28 Comments »
Everyone else has gone to bed.
A boy and his mother sit
at the table in the house
they are renting for a few
more days. They are familiar
the way my eyes are familiar.
He sees a large cockroach
climbing the wall, and when
his mom squeals, he gets up,
grabs it, throws it to the ground
with youthful efficiency,
then smiles at his mother,
a tender smile that says,
I like taking care of you, mom.
But the boy is not happy.
Soon he is crying. His eyes
are empty, colorless, black.
Then it is only the mother
sitting at the table, her
empty hands full of fear,
uncertainty, lack. Why
do I return to this moment,
knowing I cannot change
what happens the next day?
The closet. The gun. The choice.
I go back to slip my hands beneath
the mother’s empty hands,
making for them a nest,
then sneak up the stairs to the boy
in his room in his bed in his pain,
and though I know it will not change
a thing, I whisper in his ear,
there is nothing you can do
that will keep me from loving you.
A Surprising Wholeness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birds, dance, paradox, rain, sun, swallows, wholeness on August 12, 2026| 10 Comments »
Cool rain is falling through sunshine today
and the canyon’s red walls are radiant
with the contradiction. The world
smells of dry earth mixing with sky,
a rich and generative perfume
that weaves into all that grows.
Witnessing the beauty of this day,
equal parts clear and stormy,
this is how a person might come to trust
the acute aliveness we feel
when we dance with both sorrow
and gladness at the same time,
one partner asking us to crawl, to bow,
the other bidding us raise our arms
to twirl in joyful abandon. In the distance,
thunder. In the foreground, the swallows
are ceaseless in their swirling.
They do not try to avoid the raindrops
nor do they shun the sun.
On the inside, a feeling loops and dives,
swoops and circles back. It says,
This life is not easy. What a gift to be alive.
In the Noticing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged absence, connection, death on August 11, 2026| 10 Comments »
Quiet as a rabbit
nibbling on grass,
obvious as a flicker
knocking on a tree,
surprising as a white feather
landing on my tights,
again and again,
you appear, or more truly,
again and again,
I see what has
always been here—
you in everything,
your absence
throbbing with life.
Coming Soon!!
Posted in Uncategorized on August 10, 2026| Leave a Comment »
It’s almost here! On September 8, my newest book will be released! You can join me for a pre-release party hosted on zoom by Kayleen Asbo on Saturday, August 29, 6-7:30 p.m. mountain time. Donations accepted. Recorded.
You can pre-order the book from my local bookstore, Between the Covers, and I will personalize it for you (there’s a comments section at the final checkout for you to say who you want the book signed to). Order before September 12 when I go in to sign the books. The bookstore will ship your book to anywhere in the US the next day.
And European friends, you can also join me for a special European zoom launch with The Poetry Pharmacy on September 24 at 6 p.m. in the UK (11 a.m. mountain time) Tickets available with or without a book purchase.