Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chanterelles, hope, mushroom hunting, poem, poetry on August 15, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Just as you give up,
there, through the trees,
you see a clearing
and though it’s exhausting
to be hopeful again
when there’s so little
to show for your hope,
you walk to the clearing
and there in the moss,
hundreds of chanterelles.
When you leave
to reenter the broken world,
some of the hope
sticks to you like tiny burrs,
able to seed themselves
anywhere you carry them.
By noon, nearly everything
seems possible.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hope, poem, poetry, rainbow on July 20, 2017| Leave a Comment »
double rainbow to the east—
I stand in the rain and watch
as its colors deepen—
something small inside me
grows brighter, bright enough
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hope, morning, poem, poetry on June 20, 2017| 4 Comments »
when it’s morning,
when the birds are already
weaving music through the trees.
Easier when the dew
still shines on the leaves
and the world is warming.
In these ripening moments,
it’s hard to remember,
was it only hours ago,
how darkness poured over you
like oil in the ocean.
How nothing seems possible then.
But here, here is the bright red neck
of morning, humming through the shadows
on emerald wings, and here you are,
rising to meet it, not even
because you want to, but
because something in you rises
and carries you with it into the day.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hope, poem, poetry on June 1, 2017| 2 Comments »
Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts.
—Wendell Berry
On this gray morning,
I want to give you
the yellow of the oriole,
the way it weaves through
the invisible weight of the air.
So much touches us
that we can’t see,
and we wonder why
we feel heavy.
I would give you, too,
the gray whirr of the wings
of the hummingbird,
their improbable accuracy
as they negotiate the world
in search of what is sweet,
and I would give you
your own fine feet
still learning to master
one step at a time
and the long pause
in between.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emergency, hope, moon, poem, poetry on March 21, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged desperation, hope, lemon, poem, poetry on March 19, 2017| 2 Comments »
But darn if that scent of lemon
isn’t just so yellow, and though
I meant to write about the squeeze
of fear, there’s that bright perfume
on my fingertips and all I can think
is how full of sunshine it is, that scent,
though the room is dark,
though the last thing I thought
I could write about tonight
was hope.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, frost, garden, hope, poem, poetry on September 22, 2015| 1 Comment »
Already the frost has come,
both intricate and merciless,
and it has taken the basil,
the green beans, the zinnias
and whatever hope we had
that summer might never end.
We knew our hope was irrational,
but that’s never stopped a hope before.
Every day there’s more evidence
against hope—the headlines,
the angry boy down the street,
the child bride in Afghanistan.
And still it rises up, slightly
browned, but still shining
like that marigold bloom that was hiding
beneath a sunflower leaf—
it should be frosted and dead, but
it’s not. Damn hope. Never
acting the way we think it will.
May it trick us forever into choosing
to live another day. And after a long winter
when we’re sure it’s gone, may it always
reseed, putting up dozens of starts.
Not all of them will make it. Some will.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dawn, hope, poem, poetry on April 23, 2015| 1 Comment »
before the dawn
the possibility of dawn—
all night holding that
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bridge, hope, partnership, poem, poetry, river, stubbornness on March 18, 2015| 3 Comments »
It’s true, sometimes the river can’t be wide enough
between me and you. God knows it’s cold in there.
And deep. And full of secrets I don’t ever want to know.
And that old bridge joining us, sometimes I pray it falls.
Tell myself it’s better that way, what, with you over there
and no way to get over here except to swim—and I know
you won’t do that. Yeah, I say, it’s better that way,
you and me just keeping our distance. In fact,
sometimes I pretend it’s gone already, that old bridge.
But then next thing I know, I’m making up smoke signals
to say hey, there’s a really pretty light on the water tonight,
and hey, I’m wishing you would tell me that story again, the one
your mama used to tell to you when you were scared.
And that’s when I know that if that bridge collapsed,
well, I would build a new one with all my resources—
my stubbornness, my hope, my hands. It is hard
to build a bridge out of stubbornness and hope.
But I would. Sometimes it’s all we have.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, hope, light, poem, poetry on September 13, 2014| Leave a Comment »
Is it truly dark, or is this darkness
like what we call night—
nothing more than our backs
turned to the sun.
It is not the light that has changed.
It’s a matter of where we stand.
Though I know this, the night
appears no less dark.
Sometimes, when I
lose hope for the world,
I ask myself if I have lost hope in you,
if I have lost hope in me.
Always the answer
is the same.
By now you would think
I would never forget
that the sun is only one
of many, many lights.
