The night is enormous—
big enough to hold us both
in a way that make us
seem close.
This is why I speak to you
through the stars—
not because I think
that they can hear,
but because I pray
you can.
Posts Tagged ‘love’
When You Are Far Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, night, parenting, poem, poetry on August 16, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Thigmomorphogenesis and Other Sweet Nothings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, plants, poem, poetry, thigomorphogenesis on August 12, 2017| 2 Comments »
This, too, is love, the way the beans
reach for the fence, the way the fence
does not leave the garden. The way
plants long to be touched—how
it keeps them from growing spindly
and weak. How the spider plant
on the shelf drops tiny white petals
into the cups. You could say it’s just
nature doing what nature does.
I prefer to call it love, the sunflowers
nodding their brown faces east every
morning, the lilies of the valley
spreading their generous perfume.
While Making Food for the Hummingbirds, I Consider
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hummingbird, love, poem, poetry, sugar on August 11, 2017| 2 Comments »
It’s invisible then, the sugar,
after it’s stirred in the jar.
No one would know it is there—
it looks to be only water.
But sweet it is, nonetheless,
a secret, a transparent rhyme,
a hidden pleasantness,
a shrine to the unseen.
You are my sugar,
the fuel that no one sees,
but I know, as the water knows,
what a gift it is to receive.
One Soundtrack
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, song on August 9, 2017| 4 Comments »
Even Though It Seems Impossible
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, parenting, poem, poetry, surrender on August 7, 2017| Leave a Comment »
I tell myself this is how love begins,
with a grumble. A rock in the shoe.
The flowers dead. Sleet.
This is how love begins, with taunting.
With mud on its feet. It begins
when we can’t imagine loving.
It begins when there is no light.
This is how love begins. When
we’re too exhausted to fight,
and as we slump, a door appears,
and we can’t imagine not
walking through it.
When I Get Up to Leave My Daughter at Bedtime
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, bedtime, daughter, love, mother, poem, poetry on July 26, 2017| 4 Comments »
Don’t stop, she says,
and grabs my hand
and pulls it again
to her back. She
rakes it across
her skin and urges the nails
deeper in to scratch
some invisible itch
that she can’t reach herself.
In the thin light of vespers,
her face is more shadow
than shape. Still,
as my hand grazes
her skin, I make out
the place where her brow begins,
the jut of her nose, her angle of chin,
and she is no longer
nine years old, but some
timeless version of herself—
maybe thirty, or sixty,
or eighty-four, some year
when I am no longer
near to scratch
the unreachable spot.
The thought of it
makes me linger longer
than I normally do—
until her breathing changes,
until she is nine again,
her body curling
into her blanket,
her hand opening
into sleep.
.
Unfinished Song
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged drought, love, poem, poetry on July 5, 2017| 1 Comment »
Tonight, I love you
the way the sky loves the moon,
the way trees
love their leaves,
the way loss
loves minor tunes.
Tonight, I love you
just as the sea loves the waves,
just as blooms
love their Junes,
just as welcomes
love doorways.
Don’t you hear
there’s a question in the air
and it smells like rain,
the rain that’s yet to come.
Can’t you hear
there’s a humming in the air
and it smells like rain,
the rain that’s yet to come.
Tonight, I love you
the way the earth loves the rain,
the way jazz
loves pizzazz
the way mornings
love champagne.
Tonight, I need you
the way the rain needs the sky,
the way blue
needs light, too,
the way questions
need their whys.
Don’t you hear
there’s a question in the air
and it smells like rain,
the rain that’s yet to come.
Can’t you hear
there’s a wonder in the air
and it smells like rain,
the rain that’s yet to come.
