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When pregnant, it was clear

I was along for the ride with a miracle.

Sure, I could eat organic broccoli,

walk and eschew caffeine,

but that was just taking care

of the vessel. Life itself

was doing the real work.

 

Imagine my surprise today

to realize I’m still along for the ride.

How did I ever kid myself

that I was in charge?

And oh, the bliss today

to notice anew these hands,

these eyes, these feet!

What joy to see them again

as the miracle they are,

to offer them in service to life.

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Join me and artist Meredith Nemirov at the Ah Haa School’s amazing (and elegant) New Year’s Eve Gala … art and poetry and incredible food to celebrate the old, bless the new and remember what is vitally important in the present.

 

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Walking at Night

 

 

One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, “What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?

            —Rachel Carson

 

 

And so I memorize how it is

that the cheeks nearly freeze

but the body’s so warm,

how the river informs every measure

but the thoughts sift to silence,

how the body thrills

in its ability to swing one foot

in front of the other, how

walking is just another name

for recovering from falling,

how strange it seems now

that I was once afraid of the dark.

 

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When It Comes to Ideas

 

 

 

I am perhaps like the mama sheep

who rejects the lamb that is not her own—

snorts at it, won’t let it suckle,

shoves it away with her nose.

Though her own lamb was born lifeless,

though her teats are full to leaking,

she will have nothing to do with the alien.

It’s not the lamb’s fault it has the wrong scent,

just as it’s not the idea’s fault it was born

in another’s mind. It’s likely a good idea,

just needing a bit of nourishment.

 

But there are skilled herders who know the art

of grafting, who make of the dead lamb’s skin

a jacket and wrap it around the alien lamb,

tricking the ewe into taking it on as her own.

Then it’s a matter of bonding.

 

Don’t think I didn’t see you as you stripped the skin.

Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’ve done.

The truth is, I wanted to foster it, to claim it

as my own, to see it frolic in these fields of sage.

I was made for nurturing. It’s just that loss is difficult.

It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to say yes.

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One Disentanglement

 

 

casting a broken net—

I catch no fish,

but oh, the pull of the sea

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Now dried and brown

the cinquefoil where once

bees danced in gold flowers—

 

recalibrating the heart

to find in brittle clusters

another invitation to dance.

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In the box from eBay,

a green crystal elephant

and not one clue

as to who might have sent it.

 

There are days

when I am amazed

by the goodness of people,

how we are marked by generosity

 

There are days

when I whisper thank you,

though I don’t know to whom,

and I revel in the mystery.

 

 

 

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Hope you can join me and Suzan Beraza and a bunch of other filmmakers for a night of independent film on Saturday in Ridgway, CO. Our short (very) cinepoem (funded by a grant from Telluride Arts) was selected to be part of this year’s program … can’t wait to see what else they’re showing!

FilmFest_Flyer_2019

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Wash the apple. Quarter the apple.

Seed and thinly slice the apple.

A whole morning can pass this way—

holding the apples, slicing them through,

making small v’s in the quarters

to remove the seeds.

And how many times in four hours

do I notice how perfectly the apple

fits in the palm of one hand—

as if it were made to be held.

How seldom did I dance

beyond efficiency to notice

how the skin resists the knife,

but the flesh is so sweet, so willing.

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I thought I was Nancy Drew,

a girl who stumbled into mysteries

and solved them. A girl proficient

at picking up clues. A girl who knew

her mission. It felt good to crack

the codes, to decipher the signs.

It felt good to know who was bad.

It felt good to know I was good.

 

And then I learned some signs

have multiple meanings. That sometimes

a mission gets in life’s way. That

bad people are also good,

and good people are also bad.

And that the solution is seldom

as elegant as the mystery—

secrets unfolding in the shadows.

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