in love’s hands
the compass needle
spins around the rose
Posts Tagged ‘love’
One Orienteering
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry on October 30, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Look at Your Hand, Love
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birth, complexity, evolution, hand, love, poem, poetry, science, simplicity on October 23, 2019| 4 Comments »
Before you were born,
your hand had more muscles,
for instance the dorsometacarpales,
a reptilian remnant, an atavistic relic
from when all blood was cold blooded.
By the time you were thirteen weeks
in utero, a third of the muscles
in your hands and feet had fused
with other muscles. Your body
simply deleted them, proof
that before we are born,
before we are ready
to inhabit our forms,
we are in some ways
made less complex.
I think of this now as I open my hand
for your hand, think
of how much things change.
How once we had fins, then claws.
And now, look at us,
with hands that might caress,
might soothe, might reach.
God, this impulse to be warm.
And I think of how sometimes,
growth means to become more simple.
This is my prayer. To do
what the nascent body can do:
to remember where I came from,
to streamline, to know what is needed,
to know what to let go.
https://earthsky.org/human-world/Evolutionary-remnants-muscles-human-embryos
The Fencing Teacher Suggests
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aggression, fencing, learning, love, opposites, poem, poetry on October 16, 2019| Leave a Comment »
You’re hesitating, says John from behind his mask.
Each time I invite you to strike, you wait. And he’s right.
Each time before I extend and lunge, I drop my sword.
It’s crazy. I tell myself not to do it, but every time
he motions to strike, instinct says: drop the sword.
John, I say, I’ve trained myself not to be aggressive.
When people are vulnerable, I do everything I can
to make them feel safe. It helps that John
is gentle. It helps that he beams at me a genuine smile.
Don’t think of it as aggression, he says. If someone
you love gives you the signal to touch them,
aren’t you always ready to meet them then?
And I am. Think of it as an invitation to touch.
I wonder how many stories I’ve hardwired into me.
Thou shalt not hurt. Thou shalt not strike.
Thou shalt not stab another with a sword.
I wonder that I struggle so instinctively now
when this is so clearly a game.
John drops his sword. I extend, I lunge.
I touch his chest through his silver vest
with the tip of my sword, then retreat.
Good, he says. Good. Again. Again.
Is this the way we learn all the rules
we have written for ourselves?
By breaking them. Is this the way
we might choose to meet our opponents?
By loving them.
While Drying Apples for Hours, I Consider
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apple, hands, love, poem, poetry, touch on October 15, 2019| 4 Comments »
It’s something the hands learn
with practice—how thin to slice
the apples for drying, how close
to cut to the core. In the same way
the hands learn to touch a lover,
how gently, how firmly, just where.
Oh the apple. What it knows
of desire. What it knows
of bruising, of bite. Oh the hands,
what they know of precision.
Of the pleasure of practice.
Of the joy in getting it right.
One Not Really Wanting a Boundary
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fence, love, open, poem, poetry on September 30, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Walking Past the Old VW Bug at the Car Show
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cars, love, nostalgia, poem, poetry, religion, youth on September 27, 2019| Leave a Comment »
And coming closer, I catch a familiar scent
and lean my head in the open window,
breathe in, and I am sixteen again, and Peter
is sitting beside me and The Russians Love
their Children, Too is playing on the tape deck
and we’re singing along, the windows are down
and the night is warm and we’re finding a place
in the dark where we can park and practice ways
to fit our tall thin bodies into the tiny back seat.
And it’s summer. And I love him. And he loves me.
I’m downshifting and he has his hands up my shirt
and we’re laughing and we have no idea yet
just how much it will hurt when we learn
that love is not enough when it comes
to scripture and doctrine and who marries whom.
No, tonight, it’s just me and Peter and the generous
dark and Sting and the indifferent moon.
What One Evening Can Do
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, goodness, love, poem, poetry on September 27, 2019| 5 Comments »
for Christie and Dave
Tonight, just when I am ready
to believe the news and give up
on humanity, someone I love invites me
to her home and fills my glass
with wine that her husband has made.
And the husband brings me plates of cheese
and crackers and tomatoes he grew
in his garden, and they tell me stories
about travel and books, and they give me
a bed with clean white sheets
and a tall glass of good cold water
and an open window to let in the breeze.
All night the coyotes sing in the canyon,
a reminder of the wild nature of things,
and in the moments before sleep, I feel certain
that the world is good, that we are here
to take care of each other and the land
we live on, that one beautiful act will inspire
countless more, and that love can change
everything, All night, the coyotes sing.
One Week Later
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, friendship, love, memory, poem, poetry on September 16, 2019| 4 Comments »
There are moments I forget she is gone.
Perhaps when I am in the garden. Or painting
rocks. Or making dinner. And then I remember.
She’s gone. I cry less now, but still.
I cry. Of course. Because the cloth I use to wipe
my glass table. Because the vase I slip
marigolds into. Because the necklace
I am wearing. Because out of nowhere
the sound of her voice. Because
the book I am reading. Because
when I think of how much she loved me,
how much I loved her, I gasp and
my nose starts to tingle and my eyes
well, and I know she would tell me
not to cry, but I do. Because it’s a beautiful
and rare gift to love someone. Deeply. Because
she was my gift. Because I was hers.
One Near a Mud Puddle
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, heart, love, poem, poetry on September 14, 2019| 2 Comments »
Every Thursday at 2 for Five Years
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, love, poem, poetry, student, support on September 12, 2019| 2 Comments »
for Phyllis
I remember the day she chose me.
It was fall. I didn’t know then
I would come to love her, didn’t know
how trust would grow, like catnip, like oregano,
more robust, more wild every year.
I didn’t know how I’d been waiting to be chosen,
that she would help me find the wings I’d never felt,
never seen. That she would dare me to fly.
That she would be the wind.
Sign up for my daily poem!
Archives
Meta
