Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘connection’

Every Time

 

 

and after the lights were out

and after my mother had kissed me goodnight

I would pull from under my pillow

 

the book, the flashlight, and for hours

in the quiet house, no matter how difficult

the day had been, no matter how low I felt,

 

for those hours I was so glad to be alive

in someone else’s story, and every time,

when I when I tugged long enough on its lines,

 

I could not help but notice

how each story was my story, too.

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

stepping into your heart

surprised to find a large empty chair

with my name on it—

in the dust, I write thank you,

then curl in

Read Full Post »

One Art

 

for Sherry

 

 

in a time of thorns

finding the smallest joy—

making a room in it

big enough

we can all slip in

Read Full Post »

 

 

I imagine writing a one-line poem

long enough to reach you—

imagine how the words might quiver

in the wind, how I might climb

their serifs like a thin-runged ladder

and follow the words

to you like breadcrumbs,

like footprints, like hope.

Read Full Post »

 

 

We are perhaps like neurons

that never touch—

but that doesn’t stop

the chemical buzz,

the lightning charge,

the electric thrill

that leaps the gap—

and in that span

all meaning is made,

long red ropes of memory

twisting and knotting,

braiding, unbraiding,

and nothing

is ever the same.

Read Full Post »

 

 

Whatever an open field has always tried to say,

that’s what I long to say to you. That, and the blue thrill

that trills in the larkspur just before it blooms.

 

And the communion of threads in the blanket,

the sincerity of wild strawberries, and

whatever it is that lavender says to the nose—

 

those are the notes I would write into the song

I’m still learning to sing, this song I would tuck

into your back pocket so that you might,

 

in the middle of a day, perhaps, find it there,

like stars behind the blue noon sky

just waiting for their time to emerge.

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

It was Concourse B that altered me

as I ran past old women in sarongs

and young wailing children and men

in red ties and couples holding hands.

At first, all humanity felt like a hindrance,

living hurdles between me

and gate B-14 where the plane

for Seattle was already boarding.

But then, and who can say why,

as I stitched past B-70, B-68, B-66,

I began to notice how beautiful they were,

the ones with dark briefcases and the ones

with strollers, tall ones and fat ones and

slight ones and crooked ones,

all of us constellating in the same place

at the same time, star dust

with dreams and goals and heartaches

and hopes. And as I wove through

the fabric of us,

I felt their blessing as they parted

to let me through,

and I blessed them, too,

with a thousand silent thank yous,

astonished at how different we are,

how very much the same.

Read Full Post »

One Renewal

 

 

eavesdropping on my own heart

surprised to hear your heart beating

Read Full Post »

One for Your Glass

 

 

in me a wine

I want to pour for you—

each sip made

from a thousand tiny bells

still waiting to ring

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

the semicolon,

ever winking, ever promising

two independents can come together—

a tiny constellation

glittering beneath my pinkie

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: