playing tug of war—
my future
my past
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged games, indecision, mud, present, struggle on October 22, 2020| Leave a Comment »
playing tug of war—
my future
my past
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mud, poem, poetry, shine, spring on March 23, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I am reborn into the world of radiance—
crystalline icicles, glittering reaches of snow—
and whatever in me is old brown stick,
whatever in me is withered rose hip,
whatever is desiccated and dead takes notice
of the shine and says, Teach me that.
I am reborn into the world of drip
and melt and streets of mud,
and whatever part of me is muck-squeamish
and sludge resistant goes walking anyway
and wallows and squishes and slips and laughs.
In that slippery moment, the part of me
who has died becomes lotus.
And who is it in me that scoffs
and says Who are you to be lotus?
I show her diamonds in the field,
the big blue dome of sky, the vast
expanses of glistening mud,
and I ask her, Who are you not to be?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged independence, love, mud, poem, poetry, spring on March 18, 2019| Leave a Comment »
cleaning off my shoes
before walking through the mud,
and Love says to me,
what? do you think
I am going to carry you?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mud, poem, poetry, saying yes to the world as it is on March 12, 2017| 1 Comment »
Sure you’ve delighted in mud before,
slathered it all over your skin
beside the brown currents of the Gunnison
until the only unmuddied parts of you
are your teeth, your tongue, your eyes.
Sure you’ve been baptized before
with gray muck by your best friend
on the edge of the Blue Lakes Road,
her slender hands anointing your forehead
with the color of high mountain shale.
You’ve painted with mud on desert rocks
and rolled in mud with your son,
but that doesn’t mean you want
to get muddy now, not when you’re so clean
and on retreat, not when you’re so so very very
not not muddy. So you skirt messy ruts
and you gingerly side step, you pussy foot,
weaving your way on the spring-puddled road,
but one slip and one oops and you’re in it again, ankle deep,
and what to do now but laugh
and notice how the path expands
when you no longer need to watch
where you’re going—how much more open
the world has become, how available you are
to any step that comes next.