still winging in the field
that snow angel that melted
years ago
Posts Tagged ‘time’
One Forever
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, snow angel, time on December 3, 2018| Leave a Comment »
One While Penciling in Appointments
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, time on August 5, 2018| 1 Comment »
Walking Through the Prehistoric Journey Exhibit
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dinosaurs, love, poem, poetry, time on July 8, 2018| Leave a Comment »
And again I recall how small we are,
how ninety nine percent of all species
that have ever lived are extinct,
how thin our stripe in geologic time,
how remarkable that we are here at all.
And suddenly all that matters
is that I love you—and what are the odds?
How many billion years in the making,
this rush of gratitude, this burgeoning
joy, this thrill in the sheer Cenozoic luck
to feel the concurrent burning and quenching,
the simultaneous bite and salve, the Quaternary
gift of thriving and failing at the same time?
If it feels as if it’s taken forever to get to this place,
lover, it has. Think trilobite. T-rex. Cave bear.
Wooly mammoth. Think how little time
has passed, and how lucky, how lucky we are.
Reconciliation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, poem, poetry, support, time on July 6, 2018| 5 Comments »
We are all walking each other home.
—Ram Dass
There was that moment before
I read the letter, when you
were still invincible, that moment
when just seeing your name
made me think of sitting at your table
drinking wine, eating fresh tomato soup,
and my heart rose up like a good little dog
and begged me to read the news.
And then there was the moment
when I read the news. And read it again.
And let my eyes unfocus on the words
as I felt their terrible weight
settle in my chest, on my cheeks.
How soon the mind leans toward the worst.
It is hard to reconcile the two moments
together, side by side as they were,
the one so exuberant, the other
so grim. I try to imagine them
holding hands as if to steady the other.
As if they need somehow to be close,
fear and hope. If you feel a hand
slip into yours and no one is there,
perhaps it is mine, reaching
toward you through a letter
I will always be writing, the letter
of how beautiful it is to be alive
in this world so we can
shoulder together what frightens us most.
How beautiful it is to be alive
so that even in our most lumbered days
we might meet each other, hands open,
and steady the other, walking home.
One Time Warp
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged nostalgia, poem, poetry, time, wind on April 2, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Going Forty
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, poem, poetry, time on February 16, 2017| 1 Comment »
these longer days,
still not enough time
to notice how beautiful
the cottonwood
rimed in white
Throwing Away the Canvas
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Art, poem, poetry, time, unrhymed sonnet on January 8, 2017| 1 Comment »
A response of sorts to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18
Not that I wasn’t fond of it—the blues
and golds and thick brush strokes—perhaps it was
because I was so fond of it I threw
the art away, that life-size portrait of
eternal summer, mine, the painting in
which one hand reaches for the sun, the other
grows dark roots into the earth. Now all
that lives of those bright lines are these two hands
that painted them. With something less than care
I rolled the canvas tight and took it to
the trash, the company of grapefruit rinds
and last year’s mail. By tea, I’ve gotten used
to how the wall looks—empty, open, free—
already dreamed what else these hands might do.
One Blink
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged parenting, poem, poetry, time on January 4, 2017| Leave a Comment »
distracted by dishes
and shoveling and paperwork
I fail to notice
my son
has grown two inches
Forgive Me
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, time on August 31, 2016| Leave a Comment »
I sometimes
forget we are
animated clay.
I forget
how everything
breaks.
I like to think
we have time.
One Timing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, time on August 27, 2016| Leave a Comment »
watching the kids play
I consider we will never be young together—
not all flowers bloom in spring
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