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Posts Tagged ‘life’

One at the Memorial

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 21, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

between the tears,

a curve ball of joy—

life takes a victory lap

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When the Horoscope Says to Act as if Today is the Earth’s Last Day

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 11, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

I decided to take

the invitation seriously.

Nothing changed.

I made breakfast.

Went to work.

Walked.

Made a date

to speak with a friend.

Swore at the magpie

that dive bombed

my head. Ate popcorn

for lunch.

Made plans

for four months from now.

Took vitamins.

Drank green tea.

Watered the seeds

planted yesterday.

Talked to the seeds,

encouraged them to grow.

Read a book, stopped

at the penultimate chapter.

Some things are better

left unfinished.

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In the Dream

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 3, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

 

I choose to go down with the boat

and grip tight the rails—

and the blue water widens its mouth

and swallows the ship, pulls it deeper, deeper in,

but I can’t make my body stay down,

and I float, unwillingly, to the surface.

I wake, spluttering, resentful—

this is not how it was supposed to end—

though the ship was doomed,

I was supposed to stay.

But the sunlight has other plans

for me. All day, I wring

salt water from my hair.

All day the world calls to me

like a crow, start again,

start again, start again

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That Winter Evening

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on February 10, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

for Billy Miller, remembering events on January 4, 2012

 

 

When the man pulled my father

from the icy waters of Lake Michigan,

he did not know years later my step-daughter

would need someone to buy her a sweater

so she would feel nurtured, did not know

that my son would need someone

to make a mosaic with him so that he

could feel loved, did not know

that my daughter would need

someone to tell her that she

was beautiful. When the man

pulled my father out of the water—

my dad had been fishing alone—

that off-duty fireman couldn’t have known

that years later this very daughter

would sit beside her father and hold his hand

and weep at the simple gift

of being able to hold his hand.

The fireman was doing what he knew to do—

to rush to the person in need of help.

He didn’t think then of the other lives

blessed by the man. Did not think

of the other lives he blessed with his hands

when he chose to try, though the odds

of saving the man were low.

He knew only to reach.

Years later, my mother still sleeps

beside the man that was pulled

from the winter lake.

Give us hands that know to reach

for each other—stranger, neighbor,

friend. Give us hands that unthinkingly

choose to save the family

we’ve never met.

 

See the news story here.

 

 

 

 

 

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Make No Mistake

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on December 26, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Everything is out to get you.

Still, the thrill of the ice

as your skates glide across it,

still the joy in swimming

even as the water deepens.

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One Example

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on December 10, 2017| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

the candle runs out—

knowing this, the wick

burns no less bright

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In the Garden

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 6, 2017| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

I apologize

as I squish

the green worm

that’s been feasting

on the basil leaf.

It does not change

the fact that the worm

is dead. And the basil

now will live.

 

Yesterday, my friend Carl

stopped me on the street

and wondered aloud

how we die

to the moment,

then greet the next.

He did not,

of course mean

a literal death.

 

The basil leaf

has a hole in it now

where the green worm

is not. I pick it

and eat it myself,

not out of spite,

perhaps

to feel how the worm

and I are not

after all

so different.

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Since Grass is About 85 Percent Water

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 27, 2017| 6 Comments »

 

 

 

then I guess it’s fair to say

that today, we walked on water—

how easy it is to not notice

how our every step

is miracle

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Morning Commute

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 8, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Red carcass beside the road,

the thin ribs like white staffs

and the black birds

that flitter around them

like staccato notes

escaped from the score—

 

if you listen for a death song

all you’ll hear

is the shiny caw of good fortune,

the sound of your own

hungry wheels humming by.

 

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Day of the Dead

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 2, 2016| 2 Comments »

it’s a miracle, I tell you

—Laura Kasischke, “Near Misses”

 

It’s a miracle, I tell you,

that I am here to make the breakfast

and spread the jelly

on the stale bagel,

a miracle for me to walk

down the icy street

in these scuffed up boots

with these scuffed up feet

and my scuffed up dreams

and my scuffed up love,

a miracle to wander through

the smear of the days,

the spill of the years,

my cells slowing down,

my candles blown out

and relit and blown out

and relit again,

yes a miracle, not just

biology, to feel it so profoundly,

this gratitude that I might stumble

and stride through the world,

a little hum finding my lips

as one foot falls again

in front of the other,

and is lifted, then falls,

and is lifted again.

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