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Posts Tagged ‘uncertainty’

How Can Poetry Relate to Reality?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 21, 2017| 4 Comments »

Yesterday, I spoke with KSJD radio in a 10-minute interview about how poems–both writing and reading them–might help us navigate uncertain times. You can listen to the interview here.

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One Curiosity

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 20, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

eavesdropping on my own heart

wishing I could understand the whispers—

rustle of golden leaves

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Note to Self Above the Paradox Valley

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 4, 2016| 9 Comments »

after Ocean Vuong, “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong”

You do not need to know what comes next.

There is always another storm, and you

cannot hang the tent out to dry before

it has gotten wet. You cannot shovel snow

that has yet to fall.

Put down the shovel. Breathe

into the dark spaces of your back,

feel how they open like cave doors

to let in the light.

Let your face soften. Let the creases

fall out of your brow. The mind,

no matter how clear, will never become

a crystal ball.

The wisest part of your body

knows to run when it hears

the first crashes of rock fall.

It does not pause then to consider

metamorphic or igneous,

nor does it hesitate to wonder

what might have pushed them down.

It is no small thing to trust yourself.

It’s okay to cry. It is right

that love should shake your body,

that you should find yourself trembling

in the rubble and dust

after all your certainties come down.

Your breath has not left you.

Here is the morning rain. It opens

the scent of the leaves, of the air.

All around you the world is changing.

What are you waiting for?

Here is the cup of mint tea

growing stronger in itself.

Here on this cliff of uncertainty

there is a stillness in you

so spirited, so alive

the wisest part of your body

is dancing.

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Short Letter

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on October 3, 2016| 2 Comments »

 

 

Uncertainty,

help me remember

you always come

with chocolate in your pockets,

sometimes even

the kind I like.

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One Definition of Faith

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on February 15, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

toeing the edge

of everything

we think we know

building a nest for us

on the other side

 

 

 

 

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While Walking in From the Car

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 25, 2014| 2 Comments »

Not even a gust
tonight
and for no
apparent reason
the heart
blows open
and just
like that
innumerable stars
rush in
not to mention
all the space
between them

of course it’s
miraculous,
and on the other,
well, after marveling
there’s nothing to do
but invite the universe
in for a cup
of decaf chai
then tuck us
all in
for a good night’s
rest

who knows
what could happen
tomorrow.

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What the Guidebook Can’t Tell You

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 28, 2014| 2 Comments »

I don’t know the name of the flower
about to bloom beside the trail,
but it has the leaves of a lily
and a single bud that hangs heavy
off a long bent stem.

Just as I don’t know the name
for the feeling I have when
I want you to act a certain way
and I have not yet realized
that my wanting is the problem.

Neither of these things matter—
the names, I mean. We like to think
that by naming a thing we know it.
But I have stopped believing that.
Whatever we can name, we start to overlook.

The heliotrope, for instance.
I greet it as we walk by, but I do not
stop to investigate its tiny white flowers,
nor do I rub its leaves between my fingers
to better understand their shape.

Imagine I did not know your name.
So every time we met I would
gather everything I could about you—
the scent of you, the shape of your hands,
the weather of your moods.

And imagine I forgot me, too,
and in discovering you, I’d see
myself anew. And I would be unfamiliar
with words such as happiness or forgiveness
or wound or wife.

Ah, to meet each other like that, the way we meet
this strange flower. More inquisitive than convinced.
More curious, less sure. Less like gods,
omniscient, commanding, more as if we are the ones
with so much opening left to do.

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A Small Proof of Heisenberg’s Theory of Uncertainty

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on February 12, 2014| 3 Comments »

In the loss
is a branch
with a brittle
stem
where an old
fruit hangs
rust-colored
and dried
beside
a tight cluster
of rose-tipped buds
where something
fragile
and white
is just
beginning
to form.

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Fourth Floor of Stockman

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 1, 2013| 2 Comments »

He is screaming, now,
tears spitting, his gut
curls in to protect itself.
More animal, less boy.
He froths and spews.
She does not know what to do.

I hold her hand
as she reaches for his.
He recoils from her
and scowls. She
would like to be walking
through the aisles
laughing. She would
like to buy the boy
a warm shirt and
return to the rain
and breathe that rain scent
and admire the boy
as he splashes in puddles
and gets the new shirt wet.

But he is beyond froth now.
He blathers, unglues.
He twists and writhes
and spews and hurls.

I take the shirt from
her hand and return it
to the rack. When he
runs from her reach,
I do not hold her back.

I do not tell her
what to do. I listen
as she breathes
in, breathes out,
I watch as she looks
to the air, to the boy,
to the empty spaces
hanging on the racks.

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Getting to What’s Underneath

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on May 1, 2013| 2 Comments »

A tiny screw,
a tiny screw
beneath the butts
and cheat grass stems
and fallen in
between the rocks,
a tiny screw,
a tiny screw,
you almost missed it,
didn’t you, and what
did it hold together?
The sharp end broken,
useless now. Was
it mine? How
many lives does it
take to unscrew the
light? We are all
falling apart. In our wake,
we leave hundreds,
thousands of invisible
screws—in our lawns,
in our beds, between
our car seats, in thin
alleys, on stages,
beneath the fridge.
We are all trying
to pretend we can hold it
together. Next time, maybe
you’ll notice them,
not the millions of screws
we’re constantly stepping over, but
these holes that get harder
to hide from ourselves,
from each other.

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