Posts Tagged ‘shedding’

carrying that sled

uphill for so long, I forgot

it was for riding


shedding the roof

when the house no longer fits—

now nothing between us and the stars


but I miss the weight

say the hands, too free after

setting down the stone chest


running full speed

into my own fear, I ricochet

into the arms of god

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God says, Sit over there, there
where it’s hot. Now steep.
God says, wait there for me.
I wait. I do not understand
what any of the signs
around me mean.
God calls my number.
I rise. She lays me naked
on a table. I close my eyes.
She scrubs me. And scrubs.
Without mercy, she scrubs.
It is a long time before
I understand that the small
gray rolls beside me are
my own layers coming off.
Not one inch of me
is forgotten. She adds salt
and she scrubs. She adds soap,
and she scrubs. She lathers me
then rinses me. She turns me. She hums.
There is no chit chat. No
q & a. No whys. She covers me
in warm towels and pulls me
against myself. She climbs
on the table and straddles me. She makes
of my body a drum and beats
loud slaps on my head,
in both armpits, on my right
then left thigh. God coves me
in oil, then rubs me till I shine.
I am just another body. She
turns me into silk. She grinds
her elbow between my ribs. She
bathes me in warm milk.
I do not mourn the layers gone.
I do not ask God to explain.
There is more to come off,
she runs her hands through my hair,
but only so much at a time.

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that warm coat of shoulds
not one button missing
after all these years
oh happy goosebumps
these shoulders, so naked

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Spring, how I love you,
this sun-giddy daze,
the light tangling low

in your aspen drupes,
and the new green, so pale
in the cottonwood trees.

Spring, your breath of
rain, your unruly wind, how you
shred my thoughts

until all that is left
is a woman standing
in the field.

Spring, your dandelions
already white globes in my yard.
Just yesterday they were gold.

I was gold once, too,
and though I would never
go back, oh Spring, how you

return and return, forever new.
I love you, Spring,
the candytuft white

beside the dirt path and
confusion of hummingbird wings
as they search for where

the red feeder was.
I too have lost something,
my way, was it?

Something I felt so certain of,
so black and white, it was,
it was just a month ago,

oh Spring, I’m so fuzzy now,
so full of, is it light?
oh, I don’t know.

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And What is Left

From the beginning, the key to renewal has been the casting off of old skin.
—Mark Nepo, “The Book of Awakening”

The way to the promised land is for the me to utterly fail.
—Jeannie Zandi, Telluride, 3/29/12

I saw myself
a broken thing
crumpled, bent,
weary to crying,

small and spent
and watching as
whatever self
she thought she knew

went spilling out
and sloughing off.
It’s amazing what love
gets away with.

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