Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘love’

IMG_6051

Like the giant rock, balancing in the desert

on a slender pillar of sand. Like the way

the full moon seems so much larger

when it first rises. Like how the bluebird,

smaller than my open hand, migrates

up to two-thousand miles in the spring.

 

Every day, the world bewilders me,

as if daring me to believe in other

impossible things. Like how closeness

to death makes us more alive.

Like people all over the world

choosing kindness over chaos.

Like love, that against all odds,

continues to grow.

Read Full Post »

IMG_6033

Eadem mutata resurgo

Latin motto: Changed, I rise again

 

 

Sometimes in spring

I can still find the dried seeds

of the mountain mahogany

clinging to the ends

of the branches—

feathery golden spirals,

logarithmic and light.

 

How the universe

loves a pattern,

an elegant mathematics—

this same spiral is found

in spider webs, sunflowers,

snail shells, cyclones, the arms

of galaxies, the human ear,

even in the nerves of my cornea

 

that help me to see

the very pattern that

gives me the ability to see.

I want to find the self-similar spiral curve

that informs kindness and strength

as it spreads through a people. I want

to find the equation that calculates

an exponentially growing radius of love.

I want to find the dynamic beauty in us

 

that amplifies as it moves out

with ever increasing speed

from the infinite center.

I want to embody the trustworthy constant

that inspires our species to be better,

want to know the recursive courage that drives us

to thrive in difficult times.

Our potential, endless, yet humble

as last year’s seed in my hand, ready

to be planted, to sprout, to grow.

 

Read Full Post »

255px-Albert_Einstein_Head

 

*Dear readers: Sooooo. After really investing myself in the letter (linked below) and writing the poem below, I found out the letter is a fake. And I thought about just taking down the poem. And then I thought, well, even though Albert didn’t write the letter, I still believe in what it says. So I changed the title and made note here that the letter is fake. I guess my poem just turned into fan fiction??

 

*********** 

If we want our species to survive, if we are to find meaning in life, if we want to save the world and every sentient being that inhabits it, love is the one and only answer.

            —a fake letter from Albert Einstein, in a letter to his daughter, Lieserl

 

 

Thank you for your letter.

I know you wrote it

for a daughter,

but I read it as if

you wrote it for me.

 

You spoke of making a love bomb,

a device powerful enough

to entirely destroy the hate,

selfishness and greed

that devastate the planet.

 

I want to believe it’s possible.

Now. Somehow, because it is

your assertion, it feels

more possible than something

the poets propose.

 

But count me in. Let me help

verify your equation in which

the energy to heal the world

is obtained through love

multiplied by the speed of light squared.

 

Let the experiment begin

in my heart. Let me always

let love write the proof.

Let me find the infinite energy

inside me waiting to be released.

 

Let me be driven by love.

Let me remember everything

is in relation to everything else:

Planets in their orbits. A virus. Black holes.

How I meet the world. The bending of light.

 

*to read the full letter, click here

Read Full Post »

IMG_0343

 

Just two weeks ago, it was sufficient

to say, hello, good morning, good bye.

But now, in every text, every email,

every phone call, I tell my friends

and family how much I love them.

I tell them life is better because

they are in it. I say it with the urgency

of a woman who knows she could die,

who knows this communication could be our last.

I slip bouquets into my voice. I weave love songs

into the spaces between words.

I infuse every letter, every comma, with prayers.

Sometimes it makes me cry, not

out of fear, but because the love is so strong.

How humbling to feel it undiluted,

shining, like rocks in the desert after a rain,

to know love as the most important thing,

to remember this as I keep on living.

Read Full Post »

Quarantine

 

 

This morning, my teenage boy and I

sit quiet on the couch. He does not move

to pick up his phone. I do not rise to work

or rush to make a meal. We sit, leaning

the trunks of our bodies into each other.

We do not say much. I close my eyes

and cherish his sapling weight.

There are so few people I dare now hug—

our hands, our bodies dangerous—

but here in this house so still I can almost

hear him growing, here in these minutes

that fell off the clock, here I remember

how surely we baptize each other with touch.

Such simple blessing. Silence. The metronome

of breath. The leaning in. Infectious love.

Read Full Post »

 

 

I didn’t know then that devotion

was jumping off the high dive into a pool

though there was no life guard,

though there was no telling

what or who else was in that water.

 

I didn’t know devotion would mean

tattooing another’s face to my forehead

the way Frida once did with Diego—

how the whole world would be able to see

what I thought was invisible.

 

I didn’t know devotion meant walking barefoot

into the wind, a wind so strong it shredded my coat.

Didn’t know my destination

would become so unknowable,

would remain so far away.

 

Perhaps I thought it would be more mechanical—

as if the nuts and bolts of you

would meet the nuts and bolts of me,

and through sun and rain we would fuse together,

belly to belly, nose to nose.

 

Instead, I meet devotion now

the way I once met Georgia O’Keefe’s clouds

in the stairwell of the Chicago Art Museum.

I stared at the giant painting, thinking to myself,

That’s not at all what it’s like.  

 

Years later when I visited Abiquiu,

I saw the sky so true to what she’d painted,

gasped to see that herd of perfect ovals

flocked white above the red land.

Perhaps this is what devotion is like—

 

being willing to trust I know nothing at all

of what it looks like. That the only way it reveals itself

is when I meet it with wonder, the way I might meet

the work of a master, willing to be curious,

willing to be awed.

Read Full Post »

Necessary Respite

 

 

 

Just today I did not fall in love with the long hallway,

or the faithful radiator or the steadfast brick.

I did not fall in love with a calculator or

 

with lavender soap. I certainly

did not fall for a loyal wooden ladder,

not for a mirror, not for the underappreciated spider,

 

not for a door, no matter how open it was.

So many chances, lost. So many invitations unanswered.

There are days when the heart forgets its work—

 

not out of maliciousness, more perhaps, because

it is tired. These are the days when I hope

that I will remember to sit quietly until

 

once again the heart finds the energy to love itself.

Then it is only a matter of time before it loves again

the red thread, the socks, the chipped blue cup.

Read Full Post »

 

 

Today I wish I were a potato peeler,

able to remove the outer layers of myself,

able to shave off any toughness I’ve developed

to protect, to safeguard, to shield. I want to give

myself to you, the inner sweetness,

the tenderest parts. I want to unpeel

any husk, any rind, any barrier

that would keep you from the heart

of me. I want to meet you vulnerably.

Today I want to take the long thin blade

and make ribbons of my resistance,

make strips of my defenses and watch

them fall like burlap veils. And if I cannot

find the courage to be the one who peels,

let me put the tool in your hand. I’m afraid,

but I am ready. Be sure, love. Be quick.

Read Full Post »

 

 

And while I am at it, I should like to send you

a postcard from the shores of my body,

wish you were here, it is warm and there

are so many places for us to explore

together—but even as I write these words

the letters grow ink dark wings and fly

over the sea, a colony of cormorants,

silent as they soar, and I a beach with no footprints,

the waves lapping, everywhere the scent, the sting of salt.

Read Full Post »

 

for Colette

 

 

Beside my bed, she left

a beautiful beaded hummingbird

and a story about how the Mayans

believe that these birds will transport

all of our good wishes and desires

to another. Tonight, there is no one

I wouldn’t send this bird to—

not just to my loved ones,

but to my unloved ones, the ones

I would rather forget, the ones

I would rather ignore. Oh little bird,

with your bright body and shining wings,

let’s get to work. Let’s send out

extraordinary beauty tonight,

extraordinary love.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: