Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heart, opening, poem, poetry on May 31, 2016| 2 Comments »
Who knew the heart
had so many doors,
most of them invisible
until the very moment
the hand brushes the knob,
and out of habit, perhaps,
the wrist makes a turn
and suddenly
there is an opening
where moments before
there was only wall.
There are thresholds
beyond our dreaming
right here within
the lives we live.
They have been here
all along.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Chartreuse, mouth, opening, poem, poetry on October 27, 2015| 10 Comments »
It is perhaps, no miracle, this glass
of aromatic Chartreuse, but
it opens the mouth surprisingly.
Sweetly green. Intensely green.
A wildly vital explosion of green
that baptizes the inside of the cheeks,
a smile turned in on itself.
Here in the glass, the taste
of three hundred years of practice,
here the devotion of Carthusian monks
who live in the mountains of France.
If I were more discerning, perhaps
I could find in it notes of hyssop and thyme,
cinnamon, mace, lemon balm, angelica root.
But of the one hundred thirty ingredients,
I taste mostly peppermint. And green.
What I most wish to taste
in the glass is a hint of silence.
Some of the monks speak once a week.
Some speak once a year. The rest of the time
they spend in study. And prayer.
My friend Alan says he stole a bottle once.
I think I taste the why. Not the flavor,
though it’s alluring, but the way
it makes the mouth
so aware of itself, so utterly alive,
so willing to believe there’s
so much more to learn
about opening.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged opening, poem, poetry, spring, vulnerability, winter on May 17, 2015| 2 Comments »
They are still tight,
the buds on the chives.
They are wise not to open.
After a brief spring
it is winter again.
Days of white, nights of white,
thick snow and heavy sky.
Last week, when the birds
were singing, I opened.
I didn’t think of it then
as a vulnerable thing to do.
It seemed so dependable,
the sunshine of you.
I should have taken a hint
from the iris still folded
deep in their green envelopes.
Oh damn this lilac heart,
how it rushes to bloom.
The forecast is for winter all spring.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, mother, opening, poem, poetry, The Secret Garden on February 7, 2015| 2 Comments »
Curled on the couch
my daughter and I
get lost for an hour
on the English moor
where the golden gorse
and the purple heather
grow wild around
the empty manor,
where once upon a time ago
I found the same garden
with the same brass key
and the same white lilies
and the same rose trees
while curled on the lap
of my own sweet mother
on another couch
in another home. I feel
in my girl the same thrill
I once felt as the story unfolds
and the characters all
learn just how much
there is to unlock.
Not far from this couch,
our small garden waits
for spring to unwinter
the frozen soil. I like to imagine
something stirring out there
in the dark beneath the snow—
the strawberry roots?
or oregano? But it is just
an imagining. Meanwhile,
here on the couch, there
is perhaps a blossoming:
a girl who says, “Mommy,
what will happen next?”
and a mother who
feels inside of her
some long forgotten door
opening.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged miracle, opening, poem, poetry, uncertainty, universe on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
Not even a gust
tonight
and for no
apparent reason
the heart
blows open
and just
like that
innumerable stars
rush in
not to mention
all the space
between them
of course it’s
miraculous,
and on the other,
well, after marveling
there’s nothing to do
but invite the universe
in for a cup
of decaf chai
then tuck us
all in
for a good night’s
rest
who knows
what could happen
tomorrow.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heartache, love, opening, poem, poetry on June 4, 2014| 4 Comments »
The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking.
Stanley Kunitz, “Testing Tree”
Like any other muscle,
the heart, when injured,
will clench, and will stay that way
for a long, long time, most likely
long past the time of usefulness.
But when it relaxes again,
perhaps because it has been touched
in just the right way, or perhaps
just because it is exhausted
with its own clenching, well then
it is like when the sun hits the forest
in late morning and releases the scent
of pine and greening leaves.
And it is like when you walk past a spring
and a dozen blue butterflies all brush
you with their wings, a feeling so impossibly
soft and tender that you cannot help
but let the heart stay open, though you know
it will be wounded again. It is not
in the end the heart itself that matters.
It is the practice of releasing again, again.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged opening, poem, poetry on June 2, 2014| 1 Comment »
after the glass slipper fit
deciding to go barefoot
anyway
*
I could be more open
if you stopped reaching
said the hand
*
black sheep, black sheep
you are such a fool, yes sir yes sir
eyes don’t go with wool
*
peeking into my broken heart
only to find another heart broken
a breeze goes through
*
we could dance more often
if you sang more
said the toes
*
even sad songs
are good
for dancing
*
look at her
thinking she has to try harder
her hands two hummingbirds
*
it never came back,
that goldfinch, but every morning
she sets out the seeds
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged opening, poem, poetry, veils on May 10, 2014| 1 Comment »
that gray cloth
we’ve wrapped around us,
it is too tight, too warm for us now—
quick, get the scissors
before I get cozy again
*
tuning my ears
to the melody,
realizing the reason
I could not hear it—
I have been singing too loud
*
after twenty years
of hiding, of dressing
in veils
I finally stop blaming you
for not seeing me
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged curiosity, door, key, opening, poem, poetry on January 10, 2014| 4 Comments »
walk into the wall
walk into the wall, walk in
to the wall, walk into
the wall, walk into the oh,
there’s a door
*
key after key
after three-hundred-sixty-
six keys that do not
fit the keyhole I find
the door’s unlocked
*
stepping through the door
to find
another door
*
who built
all these doorways
anyway?
*
something about
a doorway—it seems to want
to be walked through
*
or is it the walker
who does the wanting,
already I feel
it rising me
curiosity
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, opening, poem, poetry, quiet on November 3, 2013| 3 Comments »
You are unlike
the bright taste of lemon
and you are unlike
the wild geese.
Quiet, you are,
and coiled in tight.
Not like the scent
of the lilies exploding
into the living room. Not
like the milkweed pods
that burst in milky froth.
But sometimes, when
I, too, am very quiet, not
like the perfume of wild
rose, not like the autumn
wind, more like
a hang moon calendula seed,
sometimes then
you let me in and I notice
how there is perhaps
another way to open
when we curl in,
shut out, say no.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, beauty, love, need, opening, poem, practice on June 26, 2013| 2 Comments »
beside the petals
curled tight in the bud—
learning to find
them beautiful whether they ever open
or not
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, life, light, love, opening, poem, poetry on June 12, 2013| 5 Comments »
What could be more
important today
than falling in love?
Look at you, with
your list of reasons,
your itemizations,
your tallies, your shoulds,
your predictions.
Walk away from
your accountings
and smell the river.
See the water ouzel
flit and bob spritely
from stone to stone,
as if traveling
from heart to heart.
Look at her diving
beneath the surface.
You don’t need
a poet to tell you
that’s a fine metaphor.
You don’t need
to squint your eyes
or tilt your head sideways
to see this is
the right time of light
for loving. Everything
is golden, my god,
even you, you
with your lists,
your inventories,
your records.
You don’t even have
to lose them
to be beautiful.
There you are,
golden, chosen
by the light, reports
and shoulds and all.
And still, such a hard sell,
this falling in love
business, as if
it will hurt, well,
you’re right about
that. Everything
you love outside
yourself will be
lost. You will break
and it will be a mess
but you will be
in good company.
Even those lists
you say you love
will leave you.
Might as well
give them a toss
on your own.
The river will take
them, no questions
asked. And in this
light, imagine
how they will shine
as they ride the waves
around the bend.
But in a light
like this it’s only
a matter of time
before you notice
how everything
shines, and surrounded
by so much beauty,
even the muck wears
a glimmer, what is
there to do but break?
God it’s messy already,
we’ve only just started,
might as well follow
that ouzel in the river
and cold as it is
dive right in.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, allowing, fear, opening, poem, poetry on December 21, 2012| 5 Comments »
All day fear knocks
or bangs at the door,
sometimes whimpers,
each time an invitation
not just to open the door
but to tear it down,
the walls, too,
to unclench both hands,
though you think, I can’t do this,
but you do, and while
fear hangs on you like a leaden
scarf, like wet gray wool,
you notice how dazzling,
how warm the sun.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged earth, haiku, happiness, lose the self, love, nature, opening, poem, poetry, sky on October 6, 2012| 2 Comments »
Seven True Stories
divided highway
late night, coming in my lane
head lights, a story
*
the sky and I,
both of us opening—
peal of unrung bells
*
the old cottonwood
tell me, when is the last time
you climbed it?
*
that ornery face,
yep, I folded it up,
put it in a safe place
*
laying in the grass
our bodies altars—
gold leaf offerings
*
everything shimmering
how could I not French kiss
the chill air
*
that bird, wonder if
he too gets so stunned by sky
he forgets how to sing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, gifts, haiku, love, opening, poem, silence on October 4, 2012| 3 Comments »
clouded sky
I never doubt
the stars
*
yellow dotted line
one foot on either side
walking with the crow
*
clenched, clutched, still
the only thing that makes sense
open the heart again
*
listening
inside the wailing
silence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apricots, not knowing, opening, patience, poems, poetry, spring on February 29, 2012| 4 Comments »
The buds swell
till the shuck
breaks
but we
are not there
yet.
Inside, petals,
crushed and clenched
tiny fists pushing
against what
for so long
has protected them.
It is better
not yet
to bloom.
Better to remain
closed until
the days do
what days do,
lengthen and push back
the edges of cold.
It is cold.
It is cold.
White comes.
I grow old.
The opening comes
when it comes,
and when it whitely comes
there are no guarantees
that it will not freeze again.
But for now,
what is soft
leaps against
what is hard
and there is
infinite potential
for
sweetness.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, flowers, haiku, knitting, limitations, opening, relearning, snowflake on February 7, 2012| 3 Comments »
no matter how open
the heart, the eyes can only
follow one snowflake
*
tonight a whole hat
is stitched out of the promise
just two more minutes
*
all these flowers
I’ve learned by proper name
let’s relearn by scent
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged haiku, kiss, love, luck, mountains, opening, poem on February 3, 2012| 1 Comment »
Every part of me
burning and still, go figure,
I feel lucky.
Lost and scared, still
the only thing that makes sense:
fall deeper in love.
Light spills all over
the mountains—oh morning, please
kiss me like that.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged atlas, change, haiku, opening, petals, poem, tulip on January 25, 2012| 2 Comments »
watching the tulip
do the splits, every part of me
becomes tulip
*
this old atlas
pages of borders long since changed
and rose petals
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged adjust, god, haiku, listening, opening, poem, the dark, words on January 7, 2012| 2 Comments »
the sky unzipped its
blue dress and offered it to me—
hope it’s not too small
*
winter is easier
when your words melt like snow
on my tongue
*
I asked the world to
open me—I did not count
on infinite rooms
*
it was not the dark
that changed but my eyes that learned
to adjust
*
praying to God, I
said, I said please, I said too
too much to listen