with its two-foot-long green fringe
and suggested I could borrow it,
I felt that long familiar clench in my chest
as the word no puckered on my lips.
The clench said, who was I
to borrow clothes from Molly Venter?
It said who was I to wear
flirty and sexy green leather fringe?
It said, can’t you dress yourself?
I don’t know why I held out my hand,
but as soon as I did, I relaxed.
That whole night, as the long green fringe
swished and swayed all flirty around my thighs
no one else knew I was dressed in kindness.
No one knew I was alive with the blessing
of new friendship. But perhaps they could sense
I was honey-blissed on the inside with the thrill
of wearing Molly Venter’s vest,
so much more than just a sleeveless scrap of fabric—
I was wrapped in the velvet of her voice,
the willow tree of her wisdom,
the raw delight in her guitar
and the freedom that comes when
we receive the gifts of others.
Days later, dressed a slouchy cardigan,
I’m still wearing the generosity I saw in her eyes
as she handed me the vest—
I feel that fringe swish with every step I take.
Posts Tagged ‘giving’
When Molly held out her tight leather vest
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged clothes, friendship, generosity, giving, kindness, Molly Venter, receiving, vest on May 21, 2024| 9 Comments »
After Their Trip to Guatemala I Watch My Daughter and Her Friends
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, girls, giving, growth, travel on July 2, 2022| 6 Comments »
The smallest change in perspective can transform a life. —Oprah Winfrey They return arm in arm, linked by elbows and laughter, linked by memories of women weaving and warm fresh tortillas and the girl who begged them to bring her home with them. They are the same girls who left, only more spacious, filled with vast lake and tropical rain and the generosity of the people who live with little. They are more citizens of the world, now, having sat on the earth and around tables with children and elders so different, so the same. Having left in service, they return the richer— oh sweet paradox, how in giving of themselves they are beautifully changed. |
Two Things I Would Give You
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, giving, poem, poetry, purpose, sleep on September 18, 2019| 7 Comments »
Sleep, of course. Long,
uninterrupted hours of sleep.
For a week. For a month.
For a year. You’d just put your head
on the pillow, and sleep
would come meet you
like a devoted friend, or like
a dog that will come whenever you call,
and snuggle with you all night.
And then, when you woke,
I would give you the certainty
that life is worth waking for,
that you are beloved,
that everything you do
makes a difference, and
by everything, I mean everything.
To All the People I’ve Hurt Without Knowing It
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, friendship, giving, leaves, love, poem, poetry on November 5, 2018| 7 Comments »
I watched it happen, the confrontation.
The one who was hurt and the one
with no inkling that harm had been done,
and my heart ached for both of them—
for all of us really—all of us fragile, all of us
witless, all of us longing to love, to be loved
for being ourselves.
Outside the window, the leaves
were brilliantly dying, burning auburn,
vermillion, a heart swelling show
of what it is we’ve come here to do—
to give our all and give some more,
to do it unreservedly.
It’s all a series of repetition, design—
the leaves, the fall, the hurt, the blame,
the confusion, the reconciliation.
It’s all a matter of pattern and letting
go, letting go of whatever we think we know
about how to give.
What I’m trying to say is if I have hurt you,
I’m sorry. I don’t understand my own thorns.
I think I am singing and it comes out crooked.
I think I’m supporting and it comes out cage.
There are so many mistakes in my blood,
all of them believing they’re butterflies.
My friend tells me the leaves in fall
are returning to their true colors—
how the necessary chlorophyll disguises
what’s really inside.
What I’m trying to say is look at the leaves
outside the window, see how vibrant they are?
I am trying to love like that,
every day, the colors more true.
One Giving It All
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged giving, larkspur, poem, poetry on July 21, 2018| Leave a Comment »
praise the larkspur
grown so tall, so heavy with bloom
it breaks at its base,
but oh, how it grew,
it grew
And Again
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged giving, love, poem, poetry, selflessness on February 13, 2018| 3 Comments »
And what if I never get it right,
this loving, this giving of the self
to the other? And what if I die
before learning how to offer
my everything? What if, though
I say I want this generous,
indefatigable love, what if
I forever find a way to hold
some corner back? I don’t want
to find out the answer
to that. I want to be the sun
that gives and gives until it burns out,
the sea that kisses the shore
and only moves away so that
it might rush up to kiss it again.
Impossible to Wrap
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged adagio for strings, ars poetica, Christmas, gift, giving, language, poem, poetry on December 26, 2017| 6 Comments »
I want to give you words,
as if they might do what
the body can’t do—
as if with verb I could
meet the place in you
that most wants to be touched,
as if with noun I could
know the parts of you
that most want to be known.
I want to give you
the most faithful adjective,
the one that cradles you
before you even realize
that you need to be held—
once I heard a song
written by a man
for another man, a song
that swelled, then took
two steps back,
then swelled again, then
took two steps back
before finally rising
to an unsteady ledge
and my heart
beat outside of my body
and my eyes wept
with tears that were mine and not mine,
and I want to give you words
that will find every ache in you
that longs to be soothed,
words that will seek out
each lonely place, that will find
every branch of you—
not like a wind
that is here and gone, no, more like
the bark that gives everything
to protect you,
the bark that grows as you grow
and takes its shape from you.
On Thin Brown Wings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, giving, inspriation, poem, poetry, receiving on October 8, 2016| 1 Comment »
Perhaps not as many days of sun
as they might have wanted,
perhaps not as much warmth,
perhaps not as much rain—
rain that soaks in like a lover’s
lingering glance, and still
beside the trail in late fall
they are everywhere,
the seeds of next year’s flowers
giving their everything to the world.
A Strange Knowing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desert, drought, giving, patience, poem, poetry, rain on May 26, 2015| 5 Comments »
It is not only that the desert longs for water.
Of course the water longs for desert, too.
Any raindrop can fall and get lost in an ocean,
but to fall where it’s parched, where just
the smallest amount of wet can launch a hundred
hundred blooms, can set ten thousand thousand
seeds into frothy flight, oh. Now that is something
worth falling for. No imaginary desert. The real thing,
all prickle and spine and thorn and barb.
And the petals after. The heat can spend months
holding off just the briefest sprinkle. But then
no one said it was going to be easy, this going
where we’re needed most. Patience is the marriage
of sweetness and sting. To bring life one must also be alive.
More than Sufficient
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alphabet menagerie, giving, insecurity, poem, poetry on February 9, 2015| 4 Comments »
If you’d let me, I would lift you up
so you could touch the moon.
But that is a fairytale thing to say,
and you’re so practical.
I’d move a mountain for you,
though you’d laugh and insist,
“Please don’t bother, the mountain’s fine
exactly the way it is.” I’d plant you a field
of Mariposa lilies or a garden of magnolia blooms,
but you would say, “Don’t trouble yourself.
All I want is you.” But what about a meteor
shower to light up the darksome nights?
Or a macaw to brighten up the room?
Or a Martian might be nice? “A Martian?”
you’d say? “Oh come on. That’s not even
real.” So I’d offer to take you fishing
for marlin. Or maybe for a blue gill? And you
would say, “I told you already, all I want is you.”
But I’d still try to offer you something—
something sweet like a marshmallow?
Something tasty like wild mushrooms?
Something humble like marigolds?
Something weird like a marmot with a mustache?
and you’d say, “Don’t you know
you’re fine just as you are. Bring me
you with your empty hands.”
Why do I find it so daunting
to come to you just as I am?
*an M poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie
For My Brother, Who Must Have a Whole Closet of Soft Green Shirts
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged brother, gift, giving, green, memory, poem, poetry, sister on December 12, 2014| 5 Comments »
For Christmas, I want to buy you the softest green
shirt, green the color of Wisconsin in springtime,
so green we could almost fall into the color
and find ourselves running once more to the lake,
cane poles in hand, to see if the fish are biting.
Or we might find ourselves in the dark green woods
behind the neighbor’s house where we used to dig
in the old junk yard for shards of blue and white porcelain.
But green is my favorite color, not yours. And those days
of running down the great grassy hill are gone, are gone
and faded. You like blue. Forgive me, brother, for buying
you again for Christmas another green shirt. Oh hush,
can you hear them, the cicadas, trilling through the leaves
of the old willow tree, serenading the warm summer night?
On My Way to the Castle
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged giving, poem, poetry, question on July 26, 2014| Leave a Comment »
a q-poem for Lian Canty’s alphabet menagerie
It was a funny little man
I met on the street, with the sparklingest
look in his eye.
He said, I have some things
right here in my bag that I think you might
just like to buy.
Now I had a quarter,
shiny as a quasar, and a new dollar
crisp and clean,
and I said to the man,
show me what you have
that I might give to a queen.
First he pulled out a quill.
For just one dollar bill,
he said, and I declined.
Then he pulled out a quail
with a curving crest—
I said, Not what I had in mind.
Not fancy enough for the queen?
he said, and he pulled out
a red and green quetzal.
That’s lovely! I cried,
but please, no more birds.
He twisted his arms like a pretzel.
Okay, he said, you are not
easy to please. How about
some Queen Anne’s Lace?
Though the blossom was fair,
it smelled terrible
and I made a sour face.
How about a queen bee
to make her honey
whenever she wants something sweet?
How does that work?
I asked the man,
he said, Watch her carefully.
Or would she perhaps like
quartz crystals—
how many would she need?
Or maybe a book
of clever quotes—
do you know what she likes to read?
My dear man, I said,
that’s it! You have shown me
the best way to make an impression—
not with something I’ve bought
but with curiousness.
I shall bring the queen a question.
For You
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged giving, love, poem on May 27, 2013| 2 Comments »
I want to give to you
the way the shovel does—
how it is useful and fits
in your hand as if
it were made to fit
in your hand. How
it makes the day’s work
easier. I want
to give to you the way
the soap does, how it
gives itself up
at your touch.
I want to give
to you the way
the moon gives,
taking no credit
for any light.
I want to give to you
the way the field gives,
greening and deepening
and framing the day
until it is too dark
to see.
Prodigal
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged abundance, generosity, giving, god, love, poem, poetry, spirit, water on September 22, 2012| 3 Comments »
After all this time
you still pour
pure water
into my chipped cup.
You know
I will spill and still
you pour,
and you pour.
You know, too,
how even
despite great thirst
I will sometimes
refuse to drink,
how even when
the water doesn’t
reach my lips
they are still
blessed
with your giving.
The Real Gift
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Christmas, friendship, gifts, giving, nakedness, poem, receiving on December 18, 2011| 1 Comment »
I give you bread.
You no longer eat wheat.
You give me a shirt.
There’s a small grease stain.
We both laugh. Neither
of us bothered to wrap.
Tonight I wear the shirt
and feel pretty.
Tonight you eat the bread
and it tastes like buttered love.
I keep thinking of how
we walked today,
the snow so deep, the air
so warm, the sky as clear,
as beautiful as your face
when all the masks come off.