As wet loves the waves,as dark loves nightas white loves snowas a bell loves the strikeas a wing loves air,as the shout loves the earas silence loves silencelet me love what is here.
around my heart has come down.Oh sure, I’ve rebuilt them with stonesof indifference. Stones of distraction.Stones of unwillingness to see and be seen.I’ve rebuilt the fortresses again. Again.But then come flames of heartbreak.Cannons of loss. The triple promisesof entropy, gravity and time. And at last,too exhausted to lift the stones again,I shiver with the cold […]
And then one day, while I readaloud to my husband the newsand felt the widening hole in my heart,he raised his hand to quiet me.I followed his gaze out the windowto see in the yard a small fluffy thingwith black and white eyespots on its head.A northern pygmy owl beside our door,stout body slightly smaller […]
There’s a place in my brain where hate won’t grow.—Naomi Shihab Nye, “Jerusalem” Sometimes a seed of compassionslips into my brain and lands in a placewhere before only anger could grow.These seeds appearwhen I stop seeing humansas only our actions and startseeing all of us as walking wounds.They appear when I see othersfinding ways to be […]
There, on the dream marquis,in big black all capswere three words:DEAR PEOPLE DARE.I stood on the dream sidewalkstaring up into the vastdream dark and thought,someone made a movieabout tenderness—real people finding courageto offer love and careto those who are wounded.Which is all of us.That’s when I woke,determined to auditionfor that show every dayfor the rest […]
and this, too,this calling of chickadees,and this, too,this buzzing of flies,and this, too,this memory from last year,and this, too,this tending to right here,and this, too,this softening of my jaw,and this, too,this ache in my gut,and this, too,this turning toward now,and this, too,this reaching for more,and this, too,this throbbing tenderness,and this, too,this all of this,and this, […]
to arrive right here on this February morningwith the wind gently shaking the dried grassesof the field and the chickadees flitting up and downthe empty cottonwood branches, and the riverbarely a whisper beneath the ice. But all of it, sincelong before her birth, has led her to this moment of wintersunshine warming her cheek at […]
Most days, I rearrange the small stoneson the front porch into a new semblanceof a heart. What moves them? The wind?A mouse? I gently reshape them with my palms.They have been here over four years now,since the day you placed them beside the door,the day my son did not come home.Two dozen-ish penny-sized gray […]
It’s as if I’m a vase,I thought, astwo musicianspoured all thathard-won beautyinto me, and holdingit, felt such gratefulness,then stunned by howtruly I long to pourall that same beautyinto you, my prayertransformed:please let me bea pitcher.
Even now, I am becomingwind, something less flesh, moremovement, more current, lesshere, more everywhere. Thoughthe moment I think I know this truth,the knowing re-solids me,makes me into clay that pretends it is wind.But becoming clay again, I am destinedto crumble, disintegrate, untilI am dust and once again onewith the wind. How to trust anythingthen, except […]