Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, life, miracle, poem, poetry, pregnancy, what is living this life on November 12, 2019| Leave a Comment »
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.
Posted in Uncategorized on November 12, 2019| Leave a Comment »
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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged night, poem, poetry, walking on November 11, 2019| 6 Comments »
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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, ideas, poem, poetry, sheep, yes on November 11, 2019| 2 Comments »
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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, cinquefoil, flower, grief, parenting, poem, poetry on November 9, 2019| 1 Comment »
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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged generosity, gift, mystery, poem, poetry on November 7, 2019| 5 Comments »
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.
Posted in Uncategorized on November 7, 2019| 4 Comments »
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!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mystery, nancy drew, poem, poetry, shadow on November 5, 2019| Leave a Comment »
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.
