Posted in Uncategorized, tagged biology, curiosity, human, poem, poetry on August 12, 2019| 2 Comments »
We start with more.
But then, as we age,
there’s a lessening.
Where there once
were 300 bones,
there are now 206.
Where there once was cartilage,
now it’s fused and stiff.
What used to be flexible,
now refuses to be rebirthed.
What once allowed for rapid growth
now considers itself mature.
And how do we get it back,
that willingness to grow?
And how do we unstiffen?
And how do we unknow?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anger, human, poem, poetry on June 6, 2015| 1 Comment »
title on a line by Yasmin Ramirez
I wanted to believe I could turn myself into a lilac tree
so your blow would move through without harming me,
all of my petals still intact.
I wanted to believe I could turn myself into a river,
could pull you in and away from the angry shore.
I wanted to believe I could stop you with my eyes,
could turn your fist into a song or a wing or a clear night.
There are days we learn how human we are. How sometimes
flesh is only flesh and a fist is a fist and a hatred
is a bridge that will never carry weight again
and a life is made of both blood and bruise,
the hour of the lung, the hour of the gut, the hour
of the bone and the lip.
I wanted to believe I could be more than a woman,
not just the sum of breakable parts, that I could be
the drive toward blossom, the radical acceptance
and thrust of the current.
I wanted to believe in tenderness. And transformation.
And something larger than the self that wears the wounds.
There are days we learn what we will do when someone hits us.
It doesn’t matter what we thought we knew we would do.
I turned into a lilac tree.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged human, limitations, mother, parenting, poem, poetry on April 11, 2012| 3 Comments »
Higher, she says,
though the swing
will not go higher
without buckling
the chain, and again
she says, Higher,
and it seems so human
for her to want more,
and so human to want
to give it to her,
impossible though
it is.