Posts Tagged ‘faith’

One Faith

at the edge of a wish
choosing to jump—
you my parachute

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Years from now,
I want to remember
the way tears
became white doves
and flew away,
the way stepping stones
appeared to help me
cross an impossible
river, the way
a crumpled letter arrived
from the dead
to proclaim
I am surrounded with joy.
Oh woman who lives
in my skin years from now,
don’t try to pretend
it didn’t happen.
It did. A rainbow
blossomed above
your shoulder.
Your head opened up
to receive golden light.
Life wrapped its strong hands
around your heart.
And when you asked
your son, Are you close,
you felt against your ribs
a knocking
from the inside.

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Finding Faith

While pulling the beets,

it’s impossible to lose faith

in the world. Those tiny seeds

that once fit in the palm are now

large red globes,

dense with dark sweetness

and heavy in the hand.

They are like promises kept,

like small proofs in patience,

confirmations that sometimes

the good that’s growing can’t be seen.

They are like hard truths.

Not everyone will want them.

Some will.

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Despite the News




Again the rain,

and I wander

the tender green grass

of the field.

The hands pull weeds

because the hands

want something to do.

And the mind looks

for morels, because the mind

wants something to do.

And the feet wander,

because they are born

nomads. And the heart

opens. Not because

it wants to, but

because there is something

in the scent of rain

that suggests

so much is possible,

even, against all odds,

beauty. Even, though

it seems impossible,

another day.

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Reading seed catalogs

on an eight degree morning,

how improbable they look,

those royal chantenay carrots,

those pink seashell cosmos,

those bright sugar snap peas,

so greenly dangling.

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Where yesterday

there were no morels

today there are—


dozens of them,

small blond bouquets

in the grass.


I think about kindnesses.

How sometimes

they arrive


out of what seems

an absence.

How in that absence


it seems impossible

to believe that kindness

will ever return.


How delicious

the morels were tonight

in the cream,


so earthy, so rich,

so generous.

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not the long-stemmed kind you buy in the store,

but the kind that thrives on neglect,

thrives despite drought, despite desolation,

grows rambunctious despite crummy soil,


the wild roses you find as you walk

through the edges of desert, find them not by sight

but because of the siren song of their scent—

pink and stirring and plucky.


I am famished for beauty today,

the kind that survives

when the world is hostile,

the kind that arrives above thorns,


living books of a thousand petals unfolding,

a wild beauty almost impossible to eradicate,

the kind that sends acres of runners and roots.

I believe in such beauty. It’s found me before.




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the seed company sends their catalog

with 162 full-color pages of vegetables ready


to harvest. From snap peas and bush beans

to shallots and quinoa, plus every shape


and curl of leafy green—red ursa, red ruffled,

red Russian, Bolshoi. This is the same night


my son asks me as he falls asleep to explain

the difference between science and religion.


One, I say, is based on fact. The other,

I say, is based on faith. Though tonight,


as the temperature falls below ten,

and I regard the carrots, dark orange


and almost glowing off of page 29,

I begin to wonder how different


the two really are. I notice how the promise

of a slow-bolting, scab resistant


varietal sounds like a psalm I love—

the Lord, it says, will keep you from all harm—


and I look at the Royal Chatenays

and the Yaya Nantes and say out loud


to the dark kitchen windows and

to the cold winter air, I believe, I believe.

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Above my window

two tiny hummingbird beaks

hover just beyond the edge of a nest

which is smaller than my hand—

this, I think, is what it looks like,

the start of a long, long journey.

By fall, they will be in Mexico.

They don’t even know yet

they can fly.

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One Definition of Faith




toeing the edge

of everything

we think we know

building a nest for us

on the other side





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