Posts Tagged ‘becoming’


While I did not fix
the thing I most
wish to fix, and I
did not do
the most important
thing on my list,
and I did not save
anyone, and I did
not solve the world’s
problems, I did
plant the onion sets
in the garden,
pressed my fingers
into the dry earth,
knew myself as
a thin dry start.
Oh patience, good
self. This slow
and quiet growing,
this, too, is
what you are
here to do.

published in ONE ART: A journal of poetry

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The Vendor



And if there were a map

for the path of my own becoming,

I wouldn’t buy it.

I tried. I marched up to the vendor

of maps, took out my coin,

and held it out for the exchange,

but was startled by an inner revolt—

not an angry crowd but a quiet, insistent no.

I put the coin back in my pocket

and walked away, wildly aware

I had no idea what step came next.

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Even then she was becoming

a dreamer, a lover of bark,

a student of solitude. Even then

she noticed how there were places

and moods that words couldn’t touch—

even then she felt the joy in trying anyway.

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For Her to Find




She watches the window waiting

for the owl to arrive with a letter

in its beak with her name on it,

or perhaps for a faun to show up

in plain clothes and escort her

to the gates of Camp Half Blood

where she might be claimed

as the daughter of Aphrodite.

Oh how she prays for any

formal invitation to a place

where she would discover she is something

more than just a normal girl

with normal talents and a normal

life. I don’t tell her that there

are invitations even now

for her to discover her true nature—

in the pond, on the trunk of the cottonwood,

in the river rocks, in the moss—

all of them magic, just waiting

for her to open them.


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Inner Spring




Today, the cottonwoods

in the canyon are already

more green, more lush

than the day before—

we, too, are everyday

more ourselves, which

is to say less our story

and more whatever

it is that writes the story.

Of course it is not easy

to become, though

look, we can’t stop

becoming no matter

how hard we try,

It’s so soft, the new green,

though you and I both know

what it takes to push through,

to emerge into the cold.

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waiting for forgiveness
as if it were a train
and the rails are long gone


my heart an apple blossom
afraid it doesn’t know
how to become apple

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