after James Crews, “Mud-Puddling”
Those were the years we gathered dark mud in our hands,
slathered it all over our legs, our bellies, our arms,
our faces, our hair, until only our lips and eyes
were not coated in thick river mud.
We did not know then we were mud-puddling
the way butterflies do, gathering essential nourishment
from what is fusty and damp and messy.
Is not pleasure one of the greatest nutrients of all?
How I loved going from clean to filthy, the slick mud heavy
on our skin before it dried and cracked in the sun.
We’d peel it off in chunks or in flakes,
then jump into the brown waters
of the Gunnison River and emerge less caked
but no less dirty. Perhaps this was training
for the heart, learning to let the self roll in the mess,
to treat the great muddle like a playground.
Then I still believed in a shiny version of happiness,
but fifteen years later, haven’t I come to trust there is something
nourishing in death, in ache, in turning toward fear—
something necessary I need to sustain me?
It is no surprise when I read that butterflies seek not just mud
but dung, rotting fruit, urine and carrion.
Oh heart, bless the wings of your intuition.
You know it does no good to fly only toward the beautiful.
Still it is not easy to choose what is messy, disordered, dank.
Perhaps it helps to remember now how much joy we once found
in that cold, blackish mud. When we were fully covered, I remember
how brilliant they were—our flashing eyes, our smiles so wide.
Posts Tagged ‘mess’
Mud-Puddling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged butterfly, joy, mess, mud on May 4, 2025| 8 Comments »
The Morning Before What Would Be His Twentieth Birthday, I Dream of My Son
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birthday, dream, grief, mess, mud on September 11, 2024| 9 Comments »
He is young, and it’s raining,
and we are playing on piles
of mud with his sister
the way we often did.
There are channels
of rain water beneath us.
We’re covered in mud.
Mud on our clothes.
Mud on our faces.
Our eyes shine bright
through the mud.
I don’t remember he’s dead.
Our laughter weaves
through the rain
as if it has wings.
And we splash.
How I love
the mess of it all.
When I wake,
I’m too clean,
but all day I feel it,
the way the dream mud
has stuck to my thoughts.
I do not try to wash it off.
When Shown What Is Possible
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flower, invitation, marsh marigold, mess, wildflower on June 24, 2024| 10 Comments »
How do they do it,
the marsh marigolds
rising out of the muck,
their bright white petals
and lemon yellow centers
seemingly unmarred
by dark swampy ground?
They grow, beautiful,
not despite the muck, but
because. Because slop.
Mire. Mess. Thick mess.
Squishy boot-sucking mess.
It’s what they were made to do.
Dear heart, how about you?
All at Once
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breakfast, dream, grief, joy, mess, mother on February 18, 2023| 17 Comments »
Before I woke, my son and I
were eating breakfast—
a beautiful brown-crusted boule,
warm from the oven,
and he was slicing it and making
a giant mess of it,
the bread tearing and smushing,
and we were laughing—
his head was thrown back
with the joy of making a mess,
carefree and goofy and foolish.
Crumbs everywhere.
God, how I loved him
as he smashed a hardboiled egg
onto the uneven slice.
How I loved him
as he stuffed his mouth
with the botched bread and egg.
How I loved him as we laughed
and laughed and laughed.
How I loved him when I woke
and he was dead,
his absence making the love
no less beautiful, no less true,
our laughter no less mirthful
in the empty room.
After Peeling the Beets
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alone, beets, connection, love, mess, stain, touch, vegetable on January 22, 2023| 6 Comments »
I resist peeling beets,
hate wearing their red tint
on my hands,
but today, the thought
of sweet roasted beets
was enough to make me
overcome my reticence.
Later, I notice it is impossible
to feel separate and alone
when my hands wear the evidence
of what they have touched.
I find myself wishing
everyone could see on my skin
how my life has been marked by you,
how everywhere we touched
I wear the stain of love.
Earl Gray
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, entropy, mess, tea on January 24, 2021| 2 Comments »
Today the lesson is in the little black leaves
floating freely in the tea, loosened
from their bag. How quickly things come apart—
things I wish would stay intact.
And yet I drink from the dark cup
and find joy in the bold, citrusy warmth.
Though it’s messy, though the bits catch
in my teeth and tickle in my throat,
though it isn’t what I would have wanted,
neither has it ruined the pleasure of bergamot,
the sharpness of lemon, the flavor
of acceptance, of morning.
What Sustains Us
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cleanliness, heart, mess, poem, poetry, self help on July 23, 2017| 3 Comments »
… one sector of the self can step in for another in trouble
—Kay Ryan, “Why We Must Struggle”
Because the heart is a mess
I mop the floors. And shake
the rugs. And find homes
for all the knick knacks
and papers that clutter
the shelves. And when
the heart is still a mess,
I scour sinks. Then wipe
the mirrors. Hours go by.
The drawers are straightened.
Sheets and towels refolded.
Even the piano keys
are not sticky any more.
The filter in the fish tank
is scrubbed and changed.
But what does the heart care
for cleanliness? It walks
across the polished room
in its muddiest shoes
leaving gravel on the floors.
Shoves all the pillows off the couch
to make a cozier spot
for fussing, then spreads its troubles
across the counters
where they more easily
can be seen. Organizing the lot
is beyond me, but
I notice how,
between those muddled troubles,
the counters gleam.
Self-Portrait as Elephant
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged elephant, love, mess, poem, poetry on June 7, 2016| 1 Comment »
finding myself waist-deep
in a mud puddle,
unsure
if I’d rather
have you pull me out
or if it might not
be more fun
to pull you in
and reel in mud
together
And Not Push Any of It Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, housekeeping, light, mess, poem, poetry, presence on February 7, 2013| 3 Comments »
And Not Push Any of It Away
The way the morning sun
in the kitchen shows up all the fingerprints
on the cupboards
and casts shadows past
every crumb on the floor—
isn’t it like that,
a woman who once
begged for more light
only to see, as the light
grew, so many messes
that had gone unseen.
That is not how she’d
told herself it would be.
Perhaps this is
part of what she sees,
not only the mess,
but the one who thinks
she must do something.
In the Middle Of It: Five Haiku
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged armageddon, beauty, dragonfly, haiku, mess, moon, space, story, surprise on June 27, 2012| 2 Comments »
balanced on a twig—
two blue dragonflies and
all that space between them
*
the story, calloused
and gnarled, inside it
red leaping blood
*
picking up the moon
like a telephone to dial
your number, of course
*
contemplating
dessert for
the Armageddon
*
opening a can
of worms to find
rose petals