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Posts Tagged ‘hope’

Present

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 7, 2025| 9 Comments »


 
 
I open the moment as if it were a box
and, shocked by the cruelty I find,
I want to close the lid.
Want to pretend I don’t see the tears,
don’t hear children screaming.
I want to not feel my own heart whacking
like a club inside my chest.
 
In the myth, Pandora closes the lid
on hope and keeps it locked in.
But more than I want to close the box,
I want to keep it open.
I want to stay with the ache.
I want to be with what is real.
What is real: I keep the box open.
 
What is real: There is no box.
What is real: Sometimes I fear
there is no hope left. And sometimes
when I am very still with what is,
hope flutters inside me. How?
I don’t know. But its small wings
open like prayer inside my breath.

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The Hope Engine

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on August 28, 2025| 4 Comments »


 
Is hope alive?
How does it run?
What is that
turquoise scent?
Do I revile hope
or long for it?
Every morning
it arrives, twists
and writhes and fills
what is vacant
with a beautiful,
mysterious coiling.
I long for miles and miles
of hope, an endless,
generous rope of hope.
I want enough hope
to tie me up and
tether me to what
is here. Is an inch of hope
better than nothing?
An inch is enough
to cast a shadow.
An inch is enough
to make me dream.
A sliver is enough
for me to meet hope
with curious eyes and
offer it everything I am.

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In Harsh Times

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on July 4, 2025| 11 Comments »


 
I know, music alone
will not save us. But tonight
when my daughter played
the song we both love,
we smiled at each other,
all giddy and warm,
and some shriveled
part of me revived.
It was like those seeds
in the desert that wait years
to germinate—all they need
is one good rain.
That’s what a song can do.
Remind us our hope
is merely dormant, not dead.
Who could blame me, then,
for wanting to bring a song
to the whole thirsty world,
a song that soaks into
our parched hearts,
stunning us with just how fast
even the harshest world
can transform.

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Then What Might I Do?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 24, 2025| 5 Comments »


 
There is nothing more hopeful
than hearing the whirr of the first black-chinned
hummingbird returning to the feeder,
knowing he has flown five hundred miles
to arrive at my porch within hours
of the same time the black-chinneds arrived last year
and the year before and the year before.
What inner directive is still intact,
despite the chaos that breeds all around?
I want to show up that faithfully.
Want to listen to the wisdom within
that says This is the way, now go,
go, go, and trust I have the strength
to do so, though the way is long,
though the world is vast, though
the trip must be made alone. If
this tiny bird can fly through cold fronts,
headwinds, hard and heavy rain.
If it can wing across vast open waters.
If it can arrive and make a new nest.

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Between Winter and Spring

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on March 3, 2025| 6 Comments »


 
 
I am here to remember my place
in the field, to remember again how
what looks dead can, in just a few days
of warmth, turn vibrant and green.
It can be so hard sometimes to have hope,
yet even knowing what winter did,
look at all this life.
I am here to remember again how the field
is made of uncountable blades of grass,
and how I, too, am one of many
that make up the whole, all of us growing
together. Knowing this, I feel at the same time
the truth of my insignificance and
the truth of our mutual greatness.
I come to the field to learn what the field knows—
a belonging beyond language, a vastness
that opens in me, a cell-deep trust in life itself.
This is how we learn. By listening. In the wind,
each blade of grass sings the smallest of songs,
joins in a chorus of rub and swish and kiss
as each blade whispers, this, this, this, this.
 

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The Man Who Rings Me Up at Target

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on December 19, 2024| 4 Comments »


 
 
tells me he used to be mean.
Tells me used to not like
who he was. Tells me he dreamed
of his mother after she died
and she told him that though
she was no longer with him,
she still could teach him
how to be alive, which,
in practical terms, meant
how to be kind.
In the time it takes for me to buy
lint rollers and lip balm,
I am so moved by this woman
I will only meet through
a dream and a checkout lane
conversation that I walk out
into the night with a smile
on my face. This is the way
we share hope with each other,
one thin strand at a time.
By the time I get to the car,
I’m still smiling, wholly tethered to life
by a gift that appeared so slight
at first I didn’t even know
it was there.
 
 

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There Was a Time I Disdained Hope

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on November 26, 2024| 7 Comments »


 
 
But now
what can I do
but marvel
as hope grows
like a seed
without soil,
putting down
roots despite
lack. And isn’t
that what hope
is—a sprout
that grows
when conditions
are poor,
as if to prove
that sometimes
potential
depends less
on what
surrounds us,
more on what
is living
through us.

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Lucky

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on August 10, 2024| 7 Comments »


 
 
Like a stupid
weed, like
a persistent,
stubborn,
unrelenting
weed grown
from a seed
no one planted,
it thrives now
in the rubble
of my heart,
this unasked for,
perfect, spreading
tap-rooted
hope.

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Hope, Again

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on June 26, 2024| 8 Comments »


 
 
I wanted to wear it,
this shawl of hope,
but today, it scratches
against my bare skin.
It is beautiful.
The kind of loveliness
that makes even
the plainest of wearers
feel beautiful just because
they wear it.
Hope is warm.
And the world is cold.
But today, I feel the call
for there to be nothing
between me
and the nakedness
of what is.
Even when I’m shivering.
Even when it hurts.
I want to feel
the slice of fear
because it is true.
And isn’t it strange,
when I let myself
feel it all,
then I can wear it again,
that beautiful shawl.

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One When It Seems Impossible

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged on February 19, 2024| 3 Comments »




this surprising hope—
like finding in this old, familiar house
a new room

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