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Posts Tagged ‘change’


 
 
She wanted a little room for thinking. 
With no room available, 
she settled for a chair. 
She sat there. 
To anyone else, it might have looked 
as if nothing was happening. 
Inside her, whole foundations 
were crumbling. Maps were 
unmapping. Paths
were unpathing. A tornado
of doubt did its perfect work.
Somewhere there was light.
No one else could see the rubble
rising all around her.
Also in that wreckage, 
her belief in fixing.
God, she was raw.
Now, now 
there was room.  

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Currents


 
 
I walk to the river and see how the banks
have changed since even two days ago.
Now water flows through the bright red willows
instead of staying in the main channel.
I remember how it used to run right here
where I am standing until a mighty flash
flood altered its course and there was not
a damn thing anyone could have done to stop it.
 
There is, even now, a rising flood of love.
It will move anything that tries to impede it.
When I can’t hear the flood of love,
that’s when I know it is up to me to share love
so someone else hears the currents I’m listening for.
Together we make unstoppable waves—how they roar.

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Ever Changing 


 
In my urgency to clutch it,
I made peace a thing
to be protected,
like a jewel, like a token,
instead of a force
that transforms.
What if I let peace sweep
through me as branches
are cleared by wind?
What if I let peace flood me,
scouring what I thought
I knew? What if, no matter
how hard I tried to
capture it, peace slipped
through my grasp like mist,
like rain, like time?
If I trusted an ever present
peace as much as I trust
ever present chaos,
who would I be then?

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The Change

Overnight, the frost
took every pink zinnia
every creamy dahlia,
fading their colors to brown.
The nasturtiums have slumped
into dense wilted tangle.
The marigolds hold themselves tall
in a blackened and upright
surrender. For now,
the bright, fresh bouquets
I made yesterday are still
bright and fresh in their vases.
This beauty, we know, won’t stay.
The message is simple:
All that rises passes away.
I see it in these hands
that planted and watered
and weeded and picked—
my skin now wrinkled and thin
as frost-withered petals.
Here: the chance to witness
my own rising and passing.
How natural to age, to die.
The flowers in the vase will wilt.
With every day, so do I.
Such strange gift. First
the joy of putting the self
in service to making something
beautiful. Then, beyond joy,
the grace in learning to let it all go.

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I bring with me the face of the mother I saw on the news,
the one whose shoulders shuddered as a friend
led her from the scene. I bring the ugliness
of the words I read on Facebook, black letters
on a red screen preaching rage and retaliation.
I bring the hollow cheeked boy wearing blue
greasy clothes and the smudged white body bag,
and together we drive through the canyon
where the river is swollen from last night’s rain
and the tops of cottonwoods are just beginning
to turn golden. We don’t say anything as we rise
into the valley to see mountain peaks sleeved in white.
A small bear stands on the side of the road
on his back legs, dragging acorns into his mouth
with both upper paws. A slate blue cloud
smudges the distant sky and every branch, every
rock, every bumper, every porch sparkles
in morning sun. How do we metabolize it all?
Oh body, great receptor, portal for wonder and pain.
Who am I when I step out of the car? Changed.

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Changling

one more thing that doesn’t last—
this wanting things
to stay the same

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Alteration


 
 
Though you’ve tried
to fit into
a thousand
small boxes,
perhaps comes
the day when
you’re opened
by grief or by
love, and your
thoughts unstitch
from what you knew,
and your mind
begins to rhyme
with sky, becomes
spacious enough
whole flocks
of bluebirds
can fly right
through, and
for a time you
stop trying
to make sense
of things, you
simply yield
to being
a home for
the ecstasy
of wings.

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The way beetles 
have carved their way
into the bark of the pine, 
that is the way you carved
your life into my life.
Beneath my skin
where no one can see,
there, every surface of me
is marked by your life,
the ways you burrowed
into everything I thought
I knew and rewrote
me into questions.
I admit I cannot read
the markings, though
I have tried.
Perhaps it is enough
to know this is true—
I’ve been forever changed
by the story of you.

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I made a cage out of doom.
Thought, who am I
to change the world.
Believed that thought.
It’s not so much that
the doom dissolved,
no. It’s never been
more real. But the cage?
Just one story of just
one person who chooses
to stand up for integrity,
equality and peace
is enough to show
what one courageous
person can do.
Then the bars of that cage
bend enough for the most
courageous part of the self
to slip through. I’m not
saying it isn’t scary.
But this is how
one becomes two.
 

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said the ice to the flame
teach me again
to be cloud

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