don’t let yourself be swallowed
by tomorrow’s grief
let the tongue of life
cradle you
now
here
in the silence
of present
this rocking boat
of emptiness
hollowed out home
of hope
will be your vessel
i got so stuck looking for the map
i forgot to wander
these hills and valleys of deliverance
knocking down signposts
and standing there
smirking
at my own confusion
in the same way you led me here
as if it mattered
as if i mattered
and the trees just keep breathing
their dark ragged breaths
as if dying and winter
are the same
: :
i built a red cairn
in a bowl of misfortune
balanced everything
just long enough
to understand
falling is a journey
of its own
and landing
is not
destination
i am the woman
who
saves cards and
old ribbons
in cupboards with
pale blue jars
spins trees
from yarn
and tales
from saplings
sings louder than
bold crows
just to see them cut
black sky
burns bridges
and receipts
with both indifference
and aplomb
carries all of it
up hope mountain
to send down
avalanche and thrill
looks in the mirror
and understands:
loving you was never
my maxim
: :
i did it anyway
: :
keeps playing through my head and
i walk my way through
this melody of motion
stay busy stay busy stay busy
stop, drop, and roll
lay on the floor crucifix-style
stare at the sky/ceiling/sky
a bit longer
strangely, the race feels over. life has slowed to its essence:
breathe and begin, breathe and begin.
the floor, the ground, the hollowed out place where a heart used to be,
these are my constant companions, and i adore them for their loyalty.
(just as i adore the beautiful souls who stand beside me through my trial)
circles circling and life living and hearts bleeding/breaking/beating
just as they always have.
last night, in a dream, i heard rapping on my window.
hard, insistent,
and i thought it was you.
or the moon.
it doesn’t matter which, really.
the sky was filled with clouds
and lost coyote screams
and i felt no fear,
nor did i part
the thin white curtain.
for you have no face and i, no mystery.
just this silence
filling cracks
with bits of blue.
as a child, i was often told I saw the world through rose-colored glasses. i could use a pair of those these days, when my sky is gray and life keeps handing me hard lessons.
these days, i’m thinking a lot about truth, betrayal and strength, and grace. digging deep, healing wounds that keep re-opening, cutting a crooked path through the tangled forest of fortitude.
it’s dark in here, but i never have been afraid of darkness. how else can we measure the light? besides, once your eyes adjust, it’s easier to see what lurks in the shadows, who your cellmates are, who reaches out a hand to guide you.
perhaps i’ll put a new garden over there, just around that bend. maybe a bench and a book with a view of the sunset. perhaps i’ll build my own mountain in the backyard of bafflement.
and then, just when i am ready, i will climb to the top and belt out the song of my survival.
. . .
writing again, winding my way through some things. finding my way home.
into the bedroom
burrow deep into a dream
reminisce with my lost dark side
build long bridges to the past
wander boldly through a labyrinth
of strange rooms
i may redecorate
one corner of my psyche
add some art, fresh journals,
a book on the sibilance of silence
paint a sunrise in each window
moon hung high upon one wall
weave flowers through each door frame
music breathing from the floor
fix tea and toast and nectarines
for every endless meal
watch swallows flitting in and out
bits of sky caught in their tails
think i’ll move
into the bedroom
burrow deep
into a dream
float through brief moments of survival
built on colors from a stream
::
integrity is honesty in words and actions
damn the game-playing,
word-changing,
hide-and-seek
gladiators
: :
i’ll take the bird singing joy
surprised by each sunrise
the child’s new word
wrapped in giggle and smile
i’ll take the plate washed with love
to complete a good meal
and the call in the night
to remember what’s real
i’ll be quiet and staid
in a world filled with pretense
wrinkled and worn
in the fountain of youth
i’ll walk steps on the path
my own feet have created
humble-quiet and found
through dark forests of pain
: :
i will listen with love
and be your best mirror
shining back your lost song
from a field
sown with grace
your hand trails through water
and the boat down the shore
dips a bow to polaris
and
we all break waves
on sanity’s shore
just trying
to find
direction
::
as the truth
sands us down
to blurred edges
…
being a sagittarius, i’ve never been a water girl. i barely even know how to swim.
but this year, something changed, something shifted, life delivered the cruelest of blows, and suddenly, everywhere i go, i’m drawn to water.
it’s a mystery, but one that makes me smile in weird ways at odd times. perhaps it’s the desire to float away from this pain i’m standing here holding, held in place by roots wrapped hard round my feet, refusing to budge until spring.
and i’ve been thinking a lot about anger.
the way we’re told, especially as women, that we’re not allowed to be angry, at life, at other people, at circumstances beyond our control. that we should be nice, accepting, nurturing, we should let it all go. that it’s our job to be happy every minute of every day.
i disagree.
there are times when anger is the only answer, when anger is deserved. when anger is the flame that keeps your light from going out.
i keep thinking back to the old “just smile and look pretty” maxim. the one so many of us were conditioned to follow as little girls and young women. the one we’re still held to as grown women, by those who want to fit us into those little, quiet, smiling boxes.
anger is a normal emotion. it’s part of life, part of living. it’s a catalyst for change. it’s a response to injustice, to intentional harm, to tiny daily abuses, to the constant squelching of basic human rights.
being told i shouldn’t be angry ends up being part of what makes me so angry.
one of my goals in life has long been to not grow bitter as I grow old. and it’s still one of my goals. but you know what? we have every right to be angry at intentional harm. i can be angry and see the beauty of a lone leaf clinging to a tree. i can be angry and cry at the beauty of a sunset. i can be angry and open my heart to all the world has to offer. i can still look out my window and smile at the titmouse cocking his head at me as he feeds.
we always want to see things in black and white, and we always think anger is red.
but i’m holding mine in a circle of blue, that place in a flame that holds the most oxygen.
one of these days, i’m going to use my anger to walk right through the fire that’s burning in my heart. and then i’m going to march right past all those rules til i reach the wide open shore, and cool my feet in the healing forgiveness of water.
perhaps that will cauterize my anger. crystallize it, temper it, transform it. but i shall always refuse to drown it.
you will hear me howl and the faint crackle of tough skin.
when that happens, i hope some part of you will smile.
is the seed
you never saw
dropped by bird or breeze or
gnarled fingers
holding silent
in
the cold of dark
the dark of cold
the carapace
of old
tend the bloom
discard
decay
worship petal
over promise
the grey kitchen
sings in whispers
to the rainbow
of brevity
each flower is merely
the camouflage of purpose:
grow
continue
circle-cycle
rest in soil
the light was always
your beginning
…
