Posts Tagged ‘potential’

For your birthday, I’m sending you

the sunflowers in my garden,

which is to say, I send you

something unfinished,

something with so much room

left to grow.

America, I send you

the space above the sunflowers

a space they will reach into.

There is so much promise

of beauty in you, America,

so much blossoming yet to do.

America, you’re right if you think this is symbolic.

So I send you the sunflower’s roots, too.

We all know what happens without them.

America, here’s what I most want to say—

I believe in you, America, and all the hands

that tend your soil. Happy Birthday.

It’s time to get out of your own shade.

Happy Birthday. You’ve got this.  

Home of the brave.

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What if, tonight, we all went to bed

and thought of our best version of our self.

It wouldn’t be true, of course. Not

in this moment, and not tomorrow.

Not mid-week. Not next week.

Not even next year. But if we could picture it,

it would be a goal we could live toward.


It would be, perhaps, like the garden beds

I prepared today—hoeing in fertilizer,

last year’s grass clippings, leaves.

When I was done, the rows still looked like dirt,

but such fine dirt it was for planting.


I believe in our resilience.

What is best in us is eager to grow,

like the sunflower sprouts

volunteering again this year.

What if tonight, we imagined the roots

of our goodness. What if tonight,

we planted only those seeds.


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One Sauvignon




thirsting for wine

surprised to find inside

a vineyard, a barrel, a glass

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Pulling ten thousand

yellow-petalled weeds—

how many more millions

left to pull? How soon

will they be back?

Still, marveling

for a moment

at this small bit of

weedless dirt.

In me, how many

thousands of weeds?

And beneath them,

how many gardens

just waiting to be revealed?



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in every moment

a doorway, but sometimes

the door so small

not even my toe

will fit through

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When I started to fume,

God grabbed me in his arms

impossibly strong and tender

and said, dear one,

don’t build our house too small

and I dropped my hammer

and nails and noticed

how fine the breeze

without walls.

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anything is possible

but only one thing will happen—

tulip blooming on a dandelion stem

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Who’s There?

Before the snow
before the kiss
before the loss
before the hymn
before the fear
before the dust
before the brick
before the hush
there was the rain
that made the world
a glistening place,
there was a girl
who was her dreams
while wide awake
who never thought
of holding back—
sometimes before
the cold spills in
I feel her knock
inside my ribs.

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If I lay here, if I just lay here, will you lay with me and just forget the world.
—Snow Patrol

Like sipping the stars in water,
like hearing the sun in the stone
all the impossibles, all the fantastic
notions are possible now.

Like drinking gray sky in big gulps.
Like song spiraling out of bent wheat
there is improbable joy, my love,
in the imperfect, marred, defeated.

There are shoulds, my dear, and mustn’ts
there are cages we think are ourselves,
but night is here and soon there will be
nothing we can’t have.

But it’s not about the having
not even about the dream.
it’s about, well, darling, I don’t know.
Let’s close our eyes and see.

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in the tiny seed
the scent
of marigold

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