Posts Tagged ‘partnership’



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.

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The Journey




Just because there is no trail

doesn’t mean that I won’t lead you there,


and just because I am leading now

doesn’t mean I won’t follow you.


And just because we are blinded by fog

doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still travel on,


and just because we are laughing

doesn’t mean this journey is a good idea,


then again, we are laughing,

and just because the wind is at our backs


doesn’t mean the hill won’t be steep,

and just because we feel intrepid now


doesn’t mean we have used even a thousandth

of what we’ve been given to use.

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It’s true, sometimes the river can’t be wide enough
between me and you. God knows it’s cold in there.
And deep. And full of secrets I don’t ever want to know.

And that old bridge joining us, sometimes I pray it falls.
Tell myself it’s better that way, what, with you over there
and no way to get over here except to swim—and I know

you won’t do that. Yeah, I say, it’s better that way,
you and me just keeping our distance. In fact,
sometimes I pretend it’s gone already, that old bridge.

But then next thing I know, I’m making up smoke signals
to say hey, there’s a really pretty light on the water tonight,
and hey, I’m wishing you would tell me that story again, the one

your mama used to tell to you when you were scared.
And that’s when I know that if that bridge collapsed,
well, I would build a new one with all my resources—

my stubbornness, my hope, my hands. It is hard
to build a bridge out of stubbornness and hope.
But I would. Sometimes it’s all we have.

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Beside the moss
beside red rock

we walk, we walk
to the falls and talk

and long, long after
you have gone,

the empty space
you left near me

walks on with me
walks on.

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And It’s Marvelous

This morning love is like a moat,
on one side me, the other you,
and in the moat there is an empty
yellow raft, and on the raft
twin sets of oars with narrow ends
where hands might fit, and from the shores
we who have hands both choose to leap
into the moat and swim to meet
upon the boat and put our weight
toward something new that’s not quite me
and not quite you and pull together
through the wake, it’s not what I
might once have said it would be like
this love, this love that parts the waves.

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