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Posts Tagged ‘stubbornness’

Again, Again

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 31, 2020| 4 Comments »




On a day when the world
asks too much of me
and I don’t know how to give it,
I think of the squirrels
at the feeder when I was a girl.

Dad hung the feeder
on a squirrel-proof wire.
Dad set the feeder
on a squirrel-proof pole.
Squirrels found a way.

Surely there’s some squirrel in me,
some chattering tenacity,
some bushy tailed resolve.
If I can’t be courageous and brave,
then let me at least be stubborn.

Surely inside this aching heart
is a scamperer willing to try again,
to try again, to meet disappointment
and failure and exhaustion
and try again, again.

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Stubborn

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 13, 2020| 4 Comments »

When the brain is separated from the heart, it is capable of doing terrible things to each other and the planet.

—Jane Goodall

And so I try to tend the path each day

between brain and heart.

Whatever smallnesses I trip on,

I try to remember to bow as I remove them.

Whatever weeds try to overrun it—

weeds of should and shame—

I try to yank them out, knowing full well

I never get the whole root.

The more I travel the path,

the easier it is—

though steep sometimes,

and the effort to go on

makes me weep.

And sometimes, it feels unfamiliar,

though I’m sure I’ve travelled this way before.

Frightened, lost, tired, exposed—

yet I try to find and preserve the path.

Because the stakes are too high

when the path is gone.

Because the healing is so great

when I honor the path

step by stubborn step.

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Bindweed in the Garden

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 25, 2020| 2 Comments »

All summer it’s been twisting and winding,

twining around sunflowers,

stretching across pathways,

climbing the pea vines and the tall wire fence.

If there is a fairy godmother of flowers,

she must have said to the bindweed,

“I bless you with tenacity.” And forever since,

it has lived up to her generosity.

Why do I curse it for its persistence,

when I, myself, have made a life out of stubbornness?

Oh foolish woman who longs for beauty,

but pulls the bindweed before it is beautiful,

before its pale pink flowers open to morning

delicate as certainty.

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How It Is We Stay Together

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on March 18, 2015| 3 Comments »

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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Practicing Pigeon: Because What is Brittle Will Break

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 9, 2011| 2 Comments »

Start on all fours,
placing your hands
below your shoulders,
your knees

below your hips.
Bring your right knee
forward to touch
your right wrist.

Slowly inch your right shin
toward the midline of your body.
Now straighten your left leg
toward the back.

Keep your hips level,
and as they settle
press your fingertips firmly
into the floor.

Now walk your hands forward,
inhale deeply,
and exhale as you fold forward,
lowering your elbows to the floor.

The sensations that flood
your hips might feel great—
or slightly unnerving—
or a combination of the two.

Breathe. Observe
the reactions in your mind.
Let go of them
by relaxing your eyes.

Continue to breathe
into your hips.
Allow your belly to melt.
You’re peeling back layers of tension.

Feel your hips
and your mind soften
Allow waves
to wash over you. 



After the forward bend,
inhale back up.
Press down through your fingertips
and lift your hips.

Take five deep breaths.
Observe how you feel.
There’s no need to attach
any meaning to the sensations.

No need to worry or judge yourself.
Strong as these sensations are,
they’ll soon morph
into different feelings.

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