between cupped palms
it flutters and tickles—
this secret growing wings
Posts Tagged ‘secret’
One Hush
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged secret, wings on December 30, 2022| 2 Comments »
Family Recipe
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dad, recipe, san francisco, secret, thanksgiving on November 25, 2022| 7 Comments »
All day, I search for it,
the secret ingredient—
something my father
believed in. He always
made stuffing
with something extra,
something special,
then made us guess
what the secret was.
All day, I notice
what goes into a day—
a total of 86,400 seconds,
and in every second
a choice of how
we will meet that second.
If the day is stuffing,
then this day has
some unusual ingredients:
a couple dozen folks
in swimsuits on the sidewalk,
one woman with a dying parrot
she has tucked in her sweater,
a whole garden full of lemon trees,
one ripe hour alone
in the sunshine on a rooftop,
a generous measure of laughter
as my daughter and husband and I
climb a near-vertical hill,
and bittersweet tears
as I think of Dad
and his love of secret ingredients.
All day, the world
shows off its flavors.
All day, I revel in the recipe,
this extraordinary day,
something that can never
be made the same way again.
What No One Knew Tonight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged oud, perfume, scent, secret on November 18, 2022| 4 Comments »
for Shushana Castle
Anyone with a link
could watch the pixels of her
as they streamed through the ether,
but no one in the world knew she wore oud,
a musky, pungent, smoky scent
that comes from the agar tree.
A scent said to carry prayers.
A scent said to bring serenity.
A scent derived from resin
that appears only when the heartwood of agar
has been infected by fungus, attacked.
It is not lost on her she wears
the perfume of a wounded heart—
rich and heavy, warm and animalistic.
It fills her nose with an olfactory story
that says, I have survived, and damned
if I won’t make of the wound something sweet.
She dons the gift like a secret worn on her sleeve—
something anyone could perceive
if only they come close enough—
there’s so much more than what one can see.
Return Address from Ohio
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, poem, poetry, secret, strangers on September 14, 2019| 5 Comments »
And out of the manila envelope
came a new white hand towel
hand embroidered with colorful flowers,
each one a bright celebration
of what a small amount of thread
and a steady hand can do.
Another cloth, this one edged
in a red and white lace crochet,
seemed proof that framing changes everything.
A photo of two women laughing.
A pink ribbon holding it all together.
A pink sticky note, that read
in a neat, old-fashioned script:
To Rosemerry, from Secret Agents.
There are days I can hardly
believe my good fortune—
just when the headlines
are their worst, a stranger
will reach out with a wild
and tender kindness that frames
the moment with joy,
reminding me that I, too,
might stitch thoughtfulness
and beauty into everything I do,
then share it with the world.
One Not So Secret
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, secret on July 13, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Cutting Through
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, mother, nature, poem, poetry, secret on April 2, 2018| 2 Comments »
Come, she says, let me show you
my secret place in the woods,
and she grabs my hand
and walks me past the pond through
the forest and along a ditch
until we arrive in a small clearing
rung with birch and old spruce.
It’s secret, she says, but not
too far away. Will you help me
get it ready? We return with
loppers and a small hand saw
and clear away what is dead. The sun
discovers new ways to touch the ground.
When we leave, the clearing
comes with us. All day, I feel it,
the light as it finds its way in.
Almost Out
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged let the cat out of the bag, poem, poetry, secret on December 14, 2016| Leave a Comment »
In the bag, the claws
of the cat are growing,
and so is its hunger—
it remembers the rake of grass
on its belly when it crouches,
the thrill in letting the mouse
almost escape.
The Very Secret Admirer Almost Confesses
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alphabet menagerie, blank verse, poem, poetry, secret, x on October 14, 2014| 3 Comments »
X marks each spot where I would like to kiss
you, dear. That’s why this map is full of them,
though I will never show this map to you.
I’m too afraid to tell you how I really
feel, so in each letter I have written
you, I’ve hidden xs somewhere, secret
kisses veiled in talk of other things.
For instance, when I wrote to you about
the xenops on the branch outside our house—
ridiculous, of course. Those birds are native
to the tropics. Or the time I wrote
about the mile-long xylophone? There was
no xylophone. Just one more buried kiss.
I got no x-rays of my hip, nor did
I spot a Xiphias gladius on a deep
sea fishing trip—those swordfish are elusive.
That is why there’s talk of chromosomes
in all my letters, x most frequently.
I know it’s silly. Hiding all these kisses
in these letters to you, none of which
I’ve ever sent. I keep them in this box
beside the map, then hide the box beneath
my bed. And this confession goes there, too,
sealed with a kiss I’d rather give to you.
Though It Happens Anyway
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged closet, fear, poem, poetry, secret on September 6, 2013| 4 Comments »
The secret does not want
to come out of the closet.
It is very comfortable,
thank you very much,
snuggled as it is
into the sweatshirts and old t-shirts
that no one ever wears
nearly forgotten up there
on the top shelf. And it
would rather the closet
stays just as it is. No rearranging,
no digging through the layers,
no taking things away to Good Will.
Perhaps you forgot that the secret
has teeth. Sharp. Don’t worry. If you
so much as open the closet door
you’ll remember soon enough.