Feb 2 2016

this is the mirror

at the root of existence

we choose to grow and then

wither

bend and bow

curve and carry

reach and

reminisce

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at night the bloom closes
protecting center from darkness
and fragile from star

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days run together

with the laughter of sympathy

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what we’ve learned

earned

burned

is eternally

shed

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Jan 21 2016

tiny slices of sanity

in a world of too much and

never enough

and tiny lives

bleeding hearts

doors that open

before they close

window views and

widow’s walks

and the quiet violence

of bloom

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Dec 3 2015

feeding my heart

on the quiet colors
of a cold grey sad day morning
.
the scent of winter
crisp and silent
creeping up behind me

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Nov 10 2015

the shimmer tree

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i search for beauty in the bones of every skeleton

architecture is the art of building frames

i thought i was a writer once, then i became human

the sky is a cage built for starlings

i am the ghost of my grandmother, re-contrived

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all the leaves have fallen now and the wind has moved on

we stand naked in the weak winter sunshine,

refusing the invitation to bend

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Oct 6 2015

standing on the edge
of altercation

Prepared to run, poised for flight, yet standing my ground. The sky grows dark with words that flit by with the silence of bats, words used, expelled, offered in place of all I cannot give. The earth rumbles with those I’ve yet to speak.

I want to remember tomorrow before it happens and dream of yesterday’s chance. I want to be the bird that lands last. I want to sing with the abandon of loss.

Instead, I reach my arms high and offer sanctuary, spreading branches like wings and roots like scrabbling claw feet. I am sharp-edged and hollow-toed. I am filled with echoes.

I dreamt of you again last night, fooled myself into seeing you again, but even my dream felt the need to remind me that you are gone. And even in sleep I wondered if this is the way it will always be, and I spent the rest of the night wandering lost from room to room in a house built from memories of places I’ve never been.

We were there, together, just for a moment. Before I remembered.

Mostly, I’ve come to understand that the questions will never be answered. Mostly, I’ve come to embrace the lack of knowing. I am content to wander through this field of grass and bird and flailing branch. The wind is a challenge to stay upright, my map has sailed high into clouds of disdain.

.

And we laughed again
at free falling bottles and
broken stars. We laughed.

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Joining in today over at dVersePoets with a Haibun, using Kahlil Gibran’s quote: “Yesterday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow is today’s dream.” as inspiration.

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Sep 24 2015

nestled in the mess
of imperfection

And happy to be there, settling in finally, after all these years.

You have to know your limitations and work them
into the fabric of your life.

Pick them apart and darn them back together.

You have to go in circles to get to the center.

All of life is only ever held together by a thread anyway,
no matter how much you want to think otherwise.

It’s a trap you construct to keep yourself alive,
even if you must begin anew each day.

You do it because survival is a never-ending puzzle,
a labyrinth, a fibonacci dream,
and you are always listening
for the sound beneath the sea.

You do it because everything beautiful
is woven of dark’s lightest threads and
every negative space holds eternity.

You do it because you’re thirsty,
and even dew on the edge of a crooked-silver web
will sustain you.

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Aug 20 2015

my heart worn smooth
by the shore of your fingers
{snippets and stories #5}

I found another rock the day you planned to leave me, white granite, sharp-edged, palm-sized, set down right in the center of my path like a gift or an offering or a message.

It felt just right in my hand, too, as if it had lived there once, forever, and then been lost. Later, I buried it beneath the pine in the corner of the yard, embedded in a sea of needles.

And even though it was a rock, it took root and grew beneath the surface, became a boulder. I know, because I tried to dig it up once, I spent a day on my knees with a pick and a spade until finally, at dusk, I gave up and filled it all back in, tamping down and spreading smooth the bed of my discomfort.

I slept beneath the stars that night, too tired to move and too silent to care, refusing to listen. The sky whispered lies and the stars held their arms up high like a prayer or a promise or a salutation.

I kept my cheek pressed to the earth, kissing gravity in gratitude for holding me in place, the rock beneath me still warm from the sun of exposure.

In the morning I went inside, boiled water for tea and sat in the chair by the window, already forgetting about rocks and love and heartache, my head filled with dark sparkling stories.

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Linking in over at dVersePoets for Open Link Night today, join us!


Aug 6 2015

closer

Blooming is a matter of survival. You have to do it, no matter what. It doesn’t have to be big or bold or pretty or showy, it just has to be done.

Even if you’ve been trampled or blown over, even if you’re lying in the mud, even if you’re dying of thirst, even if no one will see.

You don’t do it for the sun or the praise or the perfume.

You don’t do it for the sky or the attention.

You don’t do it for the hummingbird.

You do it for the release.

Open.

Even when it hurts.

Let the world wrestle you to the ground.

Stand up and offer the beauty of resistance.

Find the light seeping in through all the cracks.

Silence is not the same as consent or cowardice or indifference. Silence is a sign of strength. Silence means you are listening.

Breathe in. Grow again, taller. Find a way. Take the path you need, or the one you can find. Keep going. Blooming is a matter of survival.

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Jul 18 2015

clouds of clarity

pass by slowly

in a white-hot slice

of sky

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Jul 14 2015

drops of jupiter

in a sky mixed from paint and loose smoky cloud
sung by the song of ophelia’s left wrist
floating home on a river of chasm

we are built with such fragile temerity
says a poster on the wall of indifference

held in place with tacked-up tone diamonds
ripple-torn by the weight of overwhelm

it’s all too much and never enough

because cut glass and cold minded carbon
are futility’s intrinsic fossil

holding on to lost light with the fine-crazed frailty
of their own impetuous gleam

the stars will always hang high
in one corner of sky
but first you must swallow the darkness

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