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Posts Tagged ‘lost’

That Song

I want to slip into the song

you sang, the one with verse

about loss. I want to hang

on its notes as if they were branches

I could swing from, want to climb

through its chorus, want to meet it

in its rests, want to offer it tea.

I want to ask the guitar

about your fingers, about

how they knew where

to find the melody. And how?

I want to speak with the loss itself,

want to ask it if it’s sure its lost,

want to offer it a map made of apples

and wings and moon.

I want to hear the silence after

the song, and then beg it, beg it,

to keep singing.

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I said to my daughter, This time

let’s go without the map.

Never before did it occur to me

it might be more fun to be lost.

There were paths through tall dry stalks,

yes, but perhaps they were more—

an intimate landscape inviting me

again and again to lose myself now,

to lose myself now. It is harder to do

that it seems. The rustle of dry leaves,

the scent of earth, the blue sky overhead

like true north. But lost, I kept finding,

and found, I kept losing, and all

the while I kept laughing, oh, the joy

of putting one foot in front of the other,

the joy in not knowing which way

the path might turn next.

 

 

 

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Shower

 

 

Beside the dirt road

we find a whole bouquet’s worth

of purple penstemon,

 

pink wild roses, orange

globe mallow, and countless

yellow weeds. My daughter

 

picks them, a bride to joy,

and though there is thunder

it doesn’t rain, except for petals,

 

yellow sweet clover, that

she sprinkles along the dirt

to leave a trail behind us,

 

just in case we get lost, Mom.

she says. Sometimes love

seems to rise right out of the dirt

and damned if somehow

 

on that one-way road

I didn’t get wholly, beautifully,

heart breakingly lost.

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Direction

 

 

lost in this meadow

deep in the grass

so easy to think

there is no path—

 

ask the mice

ask the stars

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It is not so bad to be lost.

Being lost only rankles when you’re sure

you are heading somewhere.

But once you’ve been lost long enough,

you stop believing in arrivals.

When you are lost, you can walk

in any direction, toward that mountain,

for instance, without worrying

you should be walking toward work.

You can smell the frying of peppers and onions

in oil and be led by your nose.

When you’re lost and don’t feel any need

to find a way, every path leads you

exactly where you need to go.

 

You think it’s so important to have direction,

to follow the steps to a goal.

I can tell you feel a bit sorry for me,

poor lost soul, And then with a look

at your watch, off you go to your next place

to be. You gaze lands down the road,

your foot urging the gas. But if you went slower,

what would you see? And if you didn’t know

how the path goes, where else, where else

might you go? Who else might you be?

And I, I will wander, perhaps, among

the chamisa and sage. Who knows

what might happen next?

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Just because we can’t imagine

what it will look like, this path,

doesn’t mean it won’t appear.

Just today, I took a detour

off the interstate when a rolled semi

closed down all the lanes.

The GPS suggested

a back road, which turned

into dirt road, which turned

into dozens of switchbacks,

one hairpin turn after another

rising up and away from the route

I had planned. The GPS died.

No one else going the same way,

which always makes a mind wonder.

Just because we have little idea

where we are doesn’t mean

we are lost. And being lost

doesn’t mean we aren’t right where we

are meant to be, off on our own,

more alert than before

amongst the ten thousand

shades of evergreen.

Eventually, the detour proved true,

and I was back on pavement,

then back on the interstate.

the taste of dust on my lips.

 

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Bliss in Fifteen Minutes

 

 

 

Lost in the woods

I tell myself it is not so bad

to be lost—

just look at the curve

of that red rock wall,

just listen to that wind,

how it finds everything.

How lost can I be?

The scent of juniper

finds me again, again,

again.

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Strange Prayer

 

 

 

When we know

we are lost

it seems

so obvious

to stop,

pay closer attention,

ask for help.

 

May we always

see

how

we

are

lost.

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sometimes it's clear

Lost: One woman, fortyish,
brown hair, tall, hazel eyes,
wearing black boots, jeans,
maroon sweater. Last seen
walking toward the edge of
what she thought was
possible. Can be identified
by a freckle on her left
pinkie finger. If seen,
ask her if she found the edge.
If she says yes, tell her to go
get lost again. That any edge
she can find is an illusion.
Tell here there is no
reward for her return.

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A Little Self Talk on a Snowy Evening

You are surely lost.
When is the last time
you knew the way home?
Was it back at that gas station
where you bought the chips
before you pulled out into the night?
Though even then the snow
was hurling its white fists into your lights.
But that was before your heart started
leaping like a startled deer into the
oncoming lane of your throat.
Oh darling, who are you kidding.
You were already lost even then.
Sure you could have pointed
to a dot on the map and said,
Exit 179, Here I am. But that
is just the game we play.
Something to satisfy our jumpy brains.
You have been lost since the day
you first could say your name,
the moment you knew yourself
as other, as separate, as something
that could be lost. Sometimes,
like now, when you think you
don’t know where you are,
see if you can lose a little more.
Your certainty. Your words. Your ideas.
Your shame. And maybe then,
off the map, out of hope, exposed
and unknowing, maybe that
is home.

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