Poetry, Paradox & Perspective
Our foremothers
Have not left us.
They hover unseen
Both in spirit and in blood.
Their fears and outrage
Live on inside DNA strands
That compel us to strive
For fairness and compassion.
They swept dirt floors
And buried babies
In a legacy of grit
That reminds us
To value life over lifestyle.
When heartbreaks rip us open
They are whispering,
“You are strong
Because you’re made of
Fibers that we spun.
Keep spinning the world,
Little one.
Make it stronger still.”
Dear Valentine,
Forgive my late offering,
Like you have
So many forgetfulnesses
Over the years.
By now you know
That I move at
My own pace,
A trail of half-finished doings
In my wake.
That you can love me
Amid my clutter
And all-or-nothing-ness
Is everything to me.
If my heart were in a box,
Or even a stoppered bottle
Made of glass,
I would trust you
To keep it safe,
Not just because
You hang all your clothes
And track every transaction
And complete each to-do
With care,
But because
Somewhere in these
Seventeen years
Our hearts
Fused together
In a messy, inseparable way,
Without any catch.
So when I close with
“All my love,”
That’s yours and mine
Combined.
Crystals on the glass
Like constellations
Or molecule chains freed
From telescopes/microscopes,
And lumpy white forms
Like sugary bean bags
Tossed out on the patio,
And backpack bulges
On mudroom hooks
Instead of kids’ shoulders,
And busy black roads
Solid white and quiet
On a school day,
And landlocked tidal waves
Arcing on sidewalks/streets
From blowers and plows,
And Christmas music
On the home speakers
As if we’d time hopped
To two months back—
Oh the marvelous
Incongruities of snow!
There are actual
Recipes
For disaster:
A cupful of expectations
A pound of worry
A heap of ego
And a pinch of failure
Stirred together
Make a bitter brew.
The vapors,
Like an onion,
Prick tears,
And when swallowed,
It sits heavy like
A self-esteem–crushing
Brick in one’s gut.
The only solution
Is to throw it all out,
Ego especially,
Mourning the wasted time
But ready to start over,
Mind emptied
And free to welcome
Better thoughts,
Starting with gratitude
For the reminder
Of what it doesn’t want.
Me,
When I don’t get my way,
When I just want to put on
My ANGRY eyes
So everyone will know
I AM UPSET.
I used to scold myself,
Ring shame bells,
Say anger was wrong,
But now I let it be
So I can look in the mirror of it,
See the absurdity
Of what I’ve projected,
And a laugh works its way
From my gut to my throat
Until I surrender.
Re-center.
Breathe.
Remember.
The anger isn’t
Me.
Next life,
Though I’ve joked
That Karma will make me
A beetle,
I’m requesting houseplant.
The stillness
Would be paradise,
Especially if I can
Chill in a hammock
All day
Every day.
Foggy days feel apropos,
A reminder from the universe
Of the true state of things—
We can’t see what’s ahead
Or even what’s behind
As clearly as we think,
The big-picture view shrouded
By a mist of ever-shifting perceptions
And expectations.
C’est la vie.
At least in the fog
We can remember
How little we know.
In us and around us,
Above us and below us
And through us,
Moves such energy
As both pushes the clouds
And powers invention,
Both shoots trees toward the sky
And rockets imagination beyond it,
Both lights the moon
And glows behind our eyes:
A hallowed YES—
Yes to possibility,
Yes to flight,
Yes to the richest happiness
And the deepest knowing—
A literal, life-wielding magic
That resonates within
And around
And through
All things.
Twelve days,
They say,
Not just one.
I like that—
That the joys
Continue past the gifts
Of the first morning
And each day holds
Some reminder
Of true love.
I plan to look for it,
Eleven days more,
In the games and toys
And lights and parties,
In the family and friends
Who surround me—
I’ll watch for Christmas
Stretching its cheer.
Hello, Love.
(Do you mind, God,
If I call you that?)
So much seems upside down
So often
That I’ve lost track
Of all the ways
Your holy disruption
Has upended my life.
Thank you.
I like the new views
And the softened edges
Of things.
Today,
When I felt
What to call you
After years
Of bitter grudges
Against the titles
I’d been told to use—
Pseudonyms that
Othered and distanced you,
No matter how
Fondly parental or grand—
I held the peace
To my chest
Like a love letter
Pencilled in handwriting
Divine and dear.
Endearments seal
A relationship’s bond—
Whispered and laughed,
Reserved for the ones
We let in closest,
Who witness
Our ugliest sides
And still want us.
This name, Love,
Is a miracle
So commonplace
We toss it out our lips
Like an exhale
Or hold our breath
Until the perfect moment
To confess it.
It’s a name used for lovers
As well as children,
For friends
As well as strangers.
“Hello, Love,”
We say,
Opening our hearts
As it vocalizes
Connectedness.
Love, you are not other
Or distant.
Love, we are bound.
Love, you are in me
And in everything—
Turning my head,
Turning the world,
Helping us soften and see.
Awake & Amused 