Category: Uncategorized
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This morning, there’s a fresh breeze, carrying pollen and dreams of what tomorrow might hold. It’s Easter, which is the day before my personal “rebirth” day. Tomorrow is my fifth rebirth-day. Five years ago today, I was dragging. I had woken in the night with yet another charlie horse in my right calf. I felt…
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anxiety field notes, entry 1. What you resist, persists so, if you RESIST anxiety, it will PERSIST? What you resist, you bury. What you bury gets stuck. It persists! Some things cannot be buried. (Most things, actually.) Seeds can, and should be. Seeds grow. Flowers should not be buried, if you want to watch them…
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Dear Tich Naht Hahn Dear Tic Nat Hhan Dear Thich Nhat Hanh, I mislaid your address and even the foreign mystery of the spelling of your name in the explosion. The girls’ school papers and award certificates, sheet music, lithographs, photo albums, love letters from my father to my mother, jars full of buttons and…
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Warm up! Write eleven three-line poems about things you see right where you are, right now. Eleven Miniature Poems, March 25, 2017 1 |Roots The cutting in the windowsill vase is shooting out roots but it cannot grow there forever 2 | Fur Cordelia is striped, like a tyger burning bright descendant of some fierce…
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It′s a day to remember America was not great back when you were a white child in the white suburbs outside Toledo, in a brand-new tract home in a place called Sylvania.
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I’m going to say it straight out. Somebody’s going to die tomorrow. Actually, I’m sure, lots of somebodies will die, but there’s one in particular that I’m thinking of tonight. Nothing lasts forever. Joy comes, and goes. Seasons come, and go. Grief comes and goes, too. Whole countries, entire species, blazing stars in the sky—…
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It’s your birthday, Mama. In the picture you’re about 12 or 13, but you did headstands for as long as I can remember. When I was a teenager, I lived in fear of your doing one when a friend was over. The other mothers didn’t do things like that. I’m beginning at last to see…
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Louise Erdrich says in her poem, “Thistles”: “under loss and under hard words, under steamrollers under your heart, it doesn’t matter. They can live forever.” I think there are some feelings that are like thistles, that’s why Erdrich’s poem and the thistles along the sidewalk speak to me like an old friend as I ponder…
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Last year evaporated. No. Exploded, boiled over, filled to the brim and poured over the edges leaving December behind. The beauty and the un-beautiful combine combust time escapes like steam from a kettle screaming with possibilities I want to find more magic. I am digging.
eeo 