after the curtain call
the mind still rehearsing
how to shine
Posts Tagged ‘letting go’
One on the Ride Home
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, performance, poem, poetry, theater on May 20, 2018| 1 Comment »
One More Layer
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, poem, poetry on May 19, 2018| Leave a Comment »
after shedding all these skins
still saying to the cherry blossom
teach me how to let go
Praise Song in January
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fire, letting go, poem, poetry on January 21, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Praise the tree as we throw
its branches into the fire,
the needles once green
now brilliant, now ash,
and praise the flames
that consume. Praise
the small hands that
toss the old boughs
and the squeals as the blaze
blazes higher. Praise
the empty space
in the room where all
we see is absence
of tree. Praise the darkness—
that canvas for light
that invites us
to find in ourselves
something to burn.
It’s a cold world.
What are we willing
to offer?
One Lament
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cat, death, letting go, poem, poetry on October 17, 2017| 3 Comments »
In the ragged purr of the cat
in my lap I hear all the sun
she has yet to curl into,
all the mice she has yet
to chase, all the days
we don’t have left.
In Knots
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged knots, letting go, monkey fist, parenting, poem, poetry on September 24, 2017| Leave a Comment »
I’ve spent years learning to tie the monkey’s fist,
wrapping the long working end of the rope
around the fingers of my hand. While rocking
and nursing and feeding and soothing, I’ve held
the first set of turns in place, then made three more turns
with the rope. While reading and chasing and
swinging and catching, I’ve learned to pass the end
through the inside of the knot, to make turns inside
other turns. And pull it all tight, just so.
I have wanted to perfect this heaving line knot,
something I might use to throw to my son
to save him when he drifts away.
I have practiced the art of the throw, but it seems
I have tied my own hands by accident.
And now that it’s time to untether the line,
my hands want only to practice what they know,
holding on, holding on, holding on,
how clumsy this new art, letting go.
One Acceptance
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, letting go, poem, poetry, surrender on May 10, 2017| 5 Comments »
unable to hold things together
I open my hands, let everything drop
and feel how the world holds me
Sole
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hands, letting go, love, poem, poetry on February 26, 2017| 1 Comment »
Like a boot takes the shape
of the foot that wears it, I imagine
my hand might come to take the shape
of yours, your hand—something
I was made to hold, made to move with,
made to let go.
Three Transpositions
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding, letting go, poem, poetry on February 21, 2016| 1 Comment »
is it one small child
or the whole world
I cradle
*
this longing
to bring you a small bouquet
of possibilities
*
my limbs a clef,
I circle the changing
song of you
I Still Think There Might Be Other Options
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, love, poem, poetry, possessiveness, relationships on February 10, 2015| 3 Comments »
I fling open my arms
to greet the whole world
and you duck and run
right beneath
my wide embrace—
it seems
holding you means
letting go
of everything
everything
else
The Impulse is to Hold On
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, love, poem, poetry, roses on December 13, 2014| Leave a Comment »
these lovely days—
scattering their petals
like summer roses
One Hint About Buoyancy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged buoyancy, letting go, poem, poetry on October 28, 2014| 1 Comment »
just before I drown
I remember all those beautiful rocks
I put in my pockets
Six Pondlings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged canoe, letting go, poem, poetry on September 14, 2014| 2 Comments »
why wear a red dress
when you can wear
a red canoe?
*
trying to memorize
these waves and the way they rise—
already distracted by those waves
*
casting for fish
I hook my own loneliness—
it steals the bait, swims away
*
I tell myself
I would have jumped in
if the boat hadn’t tipped first
*
I could swim better
if I let go
of this paddle
*
just when you think
you’ll never forget, all that you
can remember later
is that there was something
very special not to forget
I Used to Think I Knew How the Story Ended
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, poem, poetry on September 7, 2014| 4 Comments »
After the sunflowers
have dropped their pollen
and dropped their leaves
and hung their seeded heads
to dry, let me sit here
in the garden where
it is not quite yet all
dead, where the calendula
surge in orange bloom,
their seeds not yet
dark brittle moons, and if
I still think that I know
anything of how
things go, then
as the dark and cold
grow stronger, let me
sit a while longer,
and then a little more.
Yes, Even the Cosmos
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged garden, letting go, poem, poetry on September 2, 2014| 3 Comments »
It is not so hard
to rip out the arugula
after it’s bolted and
gone to seed. There’s
the initial wishing that
it weren’t so, that
the leaves were still
vibrantly green. But
they’re not. And so
the quick tug and
the roots come clean.
Sometimes you have
to pull up everything
to find the one thing
that cannot be removed.
That’s a whole lot
of riddance, much it
bindweed—rhizomal,
so extensive you
don’t know where
to start. I’m not talking about
the garden anymore,
I am talking about my heart.
Channeling the Inner Pandora
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding on, letting go, poem, poetry, stuff on May 2, 2014| 3 Comments »
After while you forget what all that stuff in storage was.
—Stewart Warren
I had forgotten that kiss
with the broken hinge
and that fist on the desk
with a leg missing.
And the angers folded up
like paper dolls, ripped.
I’d forgotten the banging
on the crooked door
and the slamming of
the empty silverware drawer
and spike in the bedroom wall.
I had forgotten the heat,
the quiet, the taste of metal
in my mouth. I’d forgotten
all about it until I found
that old key. And I only opened
the storage door a crack, but all
that old stuff fell out on me. Isn’t it strange
how we don’t just throw stuff away?
We store it in case it is useful some day
—we hoard it in our closets, we lock it
in our minds. Sometimes we label it
so we can find it again.
Sometimes we just give it a toss
and it lands in a heap with other things
we once loved. And they all
gather dust. And they all gather dust.
Leave the storage door closed.
Lose the key. Take a walk.
Not Really Speaking of Apricots
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apricot, letting go, poem, poetry on April 3, 2014| 1 Comment »
Cut from the tree
they die so soon
the apricot blossoms.
I want to beg Love
to take the shears
from my hands.
Every blossom a beauty,
so fragile, so full
of perfect potential.
But any grower knows
how essential it is
to prune the limbs,
that the secret
to the finest fruits
is not let all of them grow.
Habit
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, love, parenting, poem, poetry on March 27, 2014| 2 Comments »
Sometimes I hold my own hand,
knowing it is not yours, but
it is the closest that I can come
to holding yours, and I squeeze it.
I know that it’s my own hand
I am squeezing, but I like to believe
that in some strange, miraculous way
we are one body and you can feel
not only the squeeze but the love
that rose up like a river in spring,
the love that is here even when
you are not, the love that then lets
the hand go. It is perhaps, just for me,
this little ritual, and I laugh to think
that perhaps it is as much control
as love, though I like to believe
that somewhere in another room
you look down at your empty hands
and wonder at how they feel
so suddenly warm, so surprisingly full.
Finding the Way
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding on, letting go, love, poem, poetry on March 25, 2014| 3 Comments »
With every breath today
I let you go. I don’t mean this
lightly. And with every inhale
today, I let you back in.
Softly. All day like this. Flopping.
Flopping and falling. Oh
the ridiculous failure of it all.
And the wonder. Shit.
If this is awe, I am sick of it.
Just in the last nine lines
I have let you go another nine times.
And ten times opened to you again.
I am too tired to fix anything.
The dress hem. The headphone
cord that one of the children chewed.
Our hearts. I have stopped believing in lack.
And then I believe it again.
What I know: Here we are.
I let you in. I let you go.
Through the skylight,
I watch a robin land
on a branch too thin,
watch it fly away.
Three Farewells
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, poem, poetry on January 2, 2014| 2 Comments »
old moon notes
to myself, unable to read
my own writing
*
crossing the river
in a wide shallow place
these thoughts of you
*
this silk gown of shoulds
what a nice garment to
let slip to the floor
Rumi at the Ridgway Park
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, letting go, poem, poetry, Rumi on October 27, 2013| 4 Comments »
with a quote from “On Letting Go,” by Rumi, Ghazal (Ode) 323
Translation by Nader Khalili
They’re all brown now,
the leaves that last week
rained soft gold. Brown.
No, there is nothing soft
about the way they crunch
and crackle underneath my feet
as I weave inconsistent paths
around the park.
I find me wishing impossible things,
a longing for the way things were,
such soft gold leaves, the warmth, the light,
and feel some queer delight in wanting
the impossible. “Fall in love with the agony
of love,” says Rumi. “Not the ecstasy.”
He is circling on the merry go round,
his head flung back to the sky.
“Really,” I say.
“Yeah, really,” he says.
“Shit,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “I knew that’s what you’d say.”
Shit. I think to myself. He smiles.
The sky turns darker gray.
“But,” I say.
“Yeah,” says Rumi. “I knew you’d say that, too.”
Inside me, I notice something brown.
Something crackling toward dust.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he says.
And we say nothing for a long, long time.
The naked trees show no impatience.
The leaves show no remorse.
He offers me an empty swing.
I take it. I know this isn’t really flying.
But for a moment, I feel perhaps
what the leaves feel, the small thrill of falling,
the rush of what comes next as part of me
lets go, even as my hands grip
tighter on the chains.