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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

The Half Century Caper

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 5, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

I thought I was Nancy Drew,

a girl who stumbled into mysteries

and solved them. A girl proficient

at picking up clues. A girl who knew

her mission. It felt good to crack

the codes, to decipher the signs.

It felt good to know who was bad.

It felt good to know I was good.

 

And then I learned some signs

have multiple meanings. That sometimes

a mission gets in life’s way. That

bad people are also good,

and good people are also bad.

And that the solution is seldom

as elegant as the mystery—

secrets unfolding in the shadows.

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For Your Thoughts?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 5, 2019| 6 Comments »

 

 

 

This year it costs 1.8 cents to make a penny.

It is, perhaps, similar to spending an hour

on an eleven-line poem that very few people

will read. And still, they mint the penny.

And still, I write the poem. Because

tradition. Because poems and pennies

are easy to spend. Because sometimes

the small things make life better—

something to wish on, something

valuable beyond its surface, something

humble to catch the light.

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Still Learning About My Mother

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on November 3, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

It surprises me she is fragile,

this woman who labored for eighteen hours

 

to birth me, this woman who cared for me

every time I was sick, who coached

 

my soccer team, who led my Girl Scout troupe.

This woman who went hunting and fishing

 

and still often comes home with the biggest

catch. This woman who walked ten miles

 

to raise money for hunger. This woman

who prays for everyone, everyone.

 

And so tonight when I walk her

to her room and she needs to stop

 

a moment to catch her breath,

I marvel at how human she is,

 

this woman who has been more

than human to me my whole life—

 

a super hero, a champion, a star.

And somehow, knowing this, and

 

understanding that it’s been true all along,

I fall even more deeply in love with her

 

as she leans back on the bed, lets out

a long sigh, closes her eyes, and smiles.

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November 2, 2019

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 3, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

 

This solar year, you will actually become the one you wished for. 

            —Holiday Mathis, horoscope

 

 

And so when Holiday Mathis tells me

that this is the year I will become

the one I wished for, I decide to believe her.

If it’s true, I will become sky, become river,

become aspen. Peace in my actions, truth

in my words, love in my every breath.

And though I’m unsure about horoscopes,

I decide to do everything I can to prove

her right, my thoughts already perhaps

a bit more fluid, a bit more blue.

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On the Eve of My 50th Birthday

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 2, 2019| 5 Comments »

 

 

 

I wake up happy, as if the happiness

were already seeded before I woke.

As if all I have to do to love the day

is breathe. So I breathe. And love

meets me right where I am.

There are days we know we are lucky—

lucky just to wake. Perhaps it’s because

we have known dismal days when

just rising felt like strike three.

But today,I rise with happiness as present

as the dark before the dawn—not

because I deserve it, but because

it’s as natural as the milky way

spilled across the sky, as

normal as the night itself

stretched out like a blanket

to warm the sleeping world.

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Ruth Dreams Me Safe

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 31, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

She’s in a thrift store in her dream,

and though her daughter

suggests it’s too big,

Ruth buys me a men’s suit coat,

something to keep me warm.

Later she tells me the real reason

she bought it: she knows

I need the arms around me.

Into one of the pockets,

she slips a check for $100,

then asks her daughter

to give it to me.

 

I find the coat in a message

Ruth sends me on Facebook,

where the pixels warm me

more than any wool, more

than any fleece, any down.

How easy it is to be generous,

sharing our dreams, our thoughts,

our hope. All night I stick my hands

in the coat pockets. They are deep,

warm, full of surprises.

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One Orienteering

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on October 30, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

in love’s hands

the compass needle

spins around the rose

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On the Last Day of the World

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 30, 2019| 9 Comments »

 

 

On the last day of the world, I would want to plant a tree.

            —W. S. Merwin

 

 

On the last day of the world, I would want

to feed you. Raspberries. Thin slices of apple.

Peaches so ripe they drip down our chins,

down our necks. I would want to sit with you

beneath a tree, no we’ll climb a tree, no

we’ll plant a tree, yes all of these. On the last

day of the world, I want to give myself permission

to feel exactly what I feel, to be exactly who I am,

to shed every layer of should and meet you

that way. Knowing we have only hours left,

could we put down our arguments with ourselves

and each other and find no energy to pick them up again?

On that day, I want us to write the last poem

together and let the writing undo us, let it teach us

how to get out of the way, how to obey what emerges.

Let’s run outside, no matter the weather, and praise

the light till the light is gone, and then praise the dark.

 

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A Small Bouquet from Grand Staircase-Escalante and Salida

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 28, 2019| 2 Comments »

Hi friends, I was off camping in the desert for a few days, then travelled to the glorious little town of Salida for a reading, and finally back home … here are a few small poems from the last few days … 

 

 

hell’s backbone grill—

the mouth begins to thrill

from two-hundred ten miles away

 

*

 

in the slot canyon—

knowing myself as water

moving through these walls

 

*

 

wind storm in the desert—

even my thoughts

fill with sand

 

*

 

this revolving door—

certainty, uncertainty, certainty

uncertainty

 

*

 

she sweeps the leaves

from the walk—

red carpet in reverse

 

*

 

waking in a blizzard

while in my ears, my scalp

still red sand

 

 

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One Scent Memory

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 24, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

scent of roasting pumpkins—

all day they carve

my thoughts

 

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