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Posts Tagged ‘work’

Surprise Gift

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 18, 2025| Leave a Comment »

 

                 
 
How quick I was
to curse the weeds
spiking up
through the lavender,
but wanting to remove them
is what it took
to make me pause,
to kneel on the ground
beside the thick
purple mounds
and thrust my hands
again and again
into the slender stems
to untangle and tug.
Now, I almost want
to thank those weeds
for the work.
Long after, the smell
lingered on my hands,
a gift so purple,
so humbling, so sweet.

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In Second Grade

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 30, 2025| 2 Comments »


 
 
I wanted that plastic recorder.
Wanted it so much that when mom
suggested I could earn that two dollars
by defrosting the freezer, I sat
on the black-and-white tiled kitchen floor
with a blow drier on high. For hours.
Sat there watching each drip.
Sat there longer, perhaps,
than the cumulative time I played
my recorder, but I tell you,
I cherished that brown plastic tube.
Every “Hot Cross Buns” I played
was an anthem to self-determination.
Almost fifty years later I don’t remember
what I read yesterday, but I remember
one a penny, two a penny.
I remember the drip, drip, drip of the frost.
I remember my mom saying,
No, not yet. Keep going.
I remember my lips on the mouthpiece,
the flesh of my fingertips
pressed on the holes,
the shrill music filling the kitchen.

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The Man Who Rings Me Up at Target

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on December 19, 2024| 4 Comments »


 
 
tells me he used to be mean.
Tells me used to not like
who he was. Tells me he dreamed
of his mother after she died
and she told him that though
she was no longer with him,
she still could teach him
how to be alive, which,
in practical terms, meant
how to be kind.
In the time it takes for me to buy
lint rollers and lip balm,
I am so moved by this woman
I will only meet through
a dream and a checkout lane
conversation that I walk out
into the night with a smile
on my face. This is the way
we share hope with each other,
one thin strand at a time.
By the time I get to the car,
I’m still smiling, wholly tethered to life
by a gift that appeared so slight
at first I didn’t even know
it was there.
 
 

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Riparian Soul

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 7, 2023| 11 Comments »


            for Kathy Jepson who lives and works in the San Miguel River Canyon
 
 
Some people are rivers—
always moving, always in flow.
Wherever they are,
life flourishes. They nourish,
they support, they sustain,
and they change the shape
of the landscape—
carving new paths around obstacles,
softening what is sharp.
Some people are rivers—
the lifeblood of a valley.
Forceful at times,
at other times gentle,
but constant, so constant
you could take them for granted—
like a woman with a headset
and a clipboard,
a pencil tucked in her hair
standing behind a curtain
so others can shine.
Some people are rivers.
You know who they are
because all around them
everything is growing,
everything they touch.
And you realize you can’t imagine
being without them—
everywhere you look,
you see how quietly,
how powerfully
they have transformed the world.

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On Mother’s Day

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on May 14, 2023| 2 Comments »

            for Vivian
 
 
She with the shovel,
I with the rake,
we move across
the garden row
clearing and weeding
and tilling the soil—
 
how hard it is,
how heavy, and
how simple,
this essential work—
preparing for beauty
together.

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After the Three-Day Retreat

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on November 5, 2022| 8 Comments »




Rubbing our eyes,
we sit in a small circle
in the half-lit room,
drinking whiskey
and eating potato chips,
still high on the glow
of good work,
and for a moment,
I see this night for what it is—
radiant as a Japanese maple in fall
blazing vermillion
against a backdrop of brown—
something so wonderful
it couldn’t possible last,
but my god, while it’s happening,
how astonishing, how right.

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Contact Joy

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 1, 2022| 10 Comments »




He cleans the base of the skis
with a fine, steel brush to remove
the old wax, his body swaying
above the ski, tip to tail, tip to tail,
so the micro hairs on the base
will lay down in the direction of travel
on snow. A fine copper brush
cleans it more. His movements
are quick, precise, a dance
that now comes naturally.
The only music is the sound
of the brushes, the sound
of his breath. There is no
laughter, no joking,
not even a smile, but
sometimes on winter nights
I walk toward the light
in the garage and watch
his body intent on its work,
and I feel the quiet joy
he finds in preparation
and the work of foundation,
and his joy seeps into me,
soft as the darkness
that holds the garage,
deep as the space
that holds us all.

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One Dream Job

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on March 21, 2021| Leave a Comment »


            for Kayleen
 
 
rolling up my sleeves
in this grand beauty parlor—
help wanted

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Getaway

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 12, 2017| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

Even on a Monday it can happen,

you step out of the office

and instead of going to your car

or making another call or running

to the bank, your feet

and legs conspire to move you

toward the woods where after

only ten minutes you are more breath

than brain, more here than anywhere else—

water drips in the creek bed,

sunlight pushes through empty branches,

and at your sides your arms swing

as if they were made for this.

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The Gardener Starts Again

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 19, 2017| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Push again the small dried peas

one inch into the earth. The gaps

in the rows where they did not grow,

do not take these personally.

Not everything comes to fruition,

but that is no reason to stop planting.

In fact there is every reason to believe

that not so long from now

the sweet green song of fresh sweet peas

will serenade your impatient tongue

if only your hands keep doing their work.

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