the sun is shining just now, but it’s so cold.
the snow is glittering with that false, enticing promise.
beautiful to look at, brutal to hold.
and now i’m thinking of you again.
it’s a vicious circle-cycle.
life and loss and the truth of living.
survival of the fittest.
survival.
of.
we all have our own sky.
the second poplar tree in the front yard is dying.
it lost its mate a few years back, and being the romantic that i am, when it started dying from the top down, i decided it must have a broken heart. ha. then again, perhaps i’m right.
i have to figure out what to do about it this year, how to afford to cut it down, if i can bear to cut it down, the hole it will leave in my view (and my heart) when it is gone. how much i will miss the sound of poplar leaves rustling through the darkest hours of long summer nights.
it will mark another ending, in this winter filled with endings i have not yet learned to process. all part of the same era, the same time-vine of hope. i planted those two poplars when i first started my garden. i planted my garden when i first started my marriage.
and now i am surrounded by empty spaces, dying graces, loaded places.
there is so much to say and nothing to be told.
so much to grieve and nothing real to bury.
so much to carry and nothing left to hold.
my truth is a dark burden, and in the silent hours of night, i sit by my window and watch those bare dead branches pierce the sky.
the gap its absence will leave on my horizon is too difficult to consider just now.
i’ll deal with it this summer.
. . .
there’s another tree in my front yard, a young river birch with its own painful story.
last summer, i actually thought about killing it. of course, i didn’t. i couldn’t. i wouldn’t.
after that, i thought about moving it, to somewhere out of sight from that same window.
i didn’t do that, either.
i decided, in the end, to watch it grow. it has three trunks. i have three children, three grandbabies. we all have roots here.
it doesn’t even begin to fill the sky yet, or close the hole in my horizon, but i’ve re-framed its significance in the window of my existence.
one day, it will offer shade to this tiny house still filled with love. in the fall, i’ll watch yellow leaves drop down through the night and think how often we all begin again. each morning, each month, each year.
the seasons have always marked my cadence.
i’m looking forward to the spring.
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
…
