Apr 16 2017

blur

the sun is shining
and the windows are open
and i am up early
making pierogies

i think about tradition
and the millions of women
who have stood at a sink
or a stove or a counter
smiling and singing
in a warm ray of sunshine
as they filled small houses
with smells of love

i am crying
(all these onions)
and i don’t need
to do all this work
this chopping
this repetitive
standing-up
oh-my-back labor

we could have had
scalloped or mashed
or baked, but

the sun is shining
and the windows are open
and i am up early
making pierogies

feeling blessed

and the voices
of those women
(those ghosts)
who came before me
are singing right along
in a harmony
of light

.

.

.

 


Feb 7 2017

the ones who make us
smile stay with us

if i could choose a memory
to hold in my pocket
it would be that chuckle
the little grin
those mischievous eyes
that always spoke of spirit

and i know
you are here
today
in this room

i know
because the echo
of your heart
has not faded

i know
i need only
just to stop
and to listen

and i will hear

tiny butterfly wings
of flutter and grace

fragile and tenacious all at once

weaving tales of love
and remembrance
into the very air

i breathe you in, i let you go

i breathe you in, i let you go

you’re always there
always there

floating

on the iridescent color
of laughter

 

.

.

yesterday we said goodbye to my aunt, my mother’s twin.
this was written as a tribute for my mom to read at the service.
you will be missed anut pat.
(an intentional misspelling that was part of our relationship)
may you be at peace.

.

.

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Jan 4 2016

in the back of a drawer:
your lipstick

slide open twist
red slice inhale and

snow like stars on cars
the way you carried me

half moon trundled and
sleep-breath cloud

lifting both of us
from a day like any other

marked by tattoo
kiss on fevered forehead

sweet dreams tiptoe
door gently closing

.

.

Join us over at dVerse Poets for Poetics with a prompt to
write a poem about a memory evoked by scent.

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Oct 27 2015

you are the candle

i just want to say that i see you

pouring love onto
the sidewalk
doing your best
every day
to fill in all the cracks

i see you standing there
alone and afraid
and giving
and giving
and giving

burning bright
not just at both ends
but in a circle you’ve drawn
all around us
keeping the darkness at bay

you’ve outrun the odds
and the lot of us
beaten strife down
with the soles of two feet
always moving

taking you places
you’d rather run through
valleys of burden
and pits
of responsibility

and i want
to carry your heart
to the top of the mountain
feed you sun and
silent breezes

wash your blisters and build you
a sky-high fire
to throw enough light
for you to find
your own reflection

i just want to say that i see you

.

for nana

.

.

.

Today I am hosting Poetics over at dVerse Poets
with a prompt to write a poem telling someone you love all the things
you want to tell them, now, before it’s too late.

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.

.

.

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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Jun 25 2015

scattered

Lately, life has been all about getting stuff done, flitting around like a busy bee in the garden and the house. And while it hasn’t exactly been fun, let’s face it, sometimes stuff needs to get done.

The grandbaby is coming this weekend, it’s already been over a month since I’ve seen her and I am so looking forward to this visit.

And then, summer. Soaking up the sun, reading, relaxing, enjoying life.

Writing again. Paying attention to more than peeling paint and dust bunnies.

I can’t wait.


Oct 7 2014

nineteen years

growing
side by side

putting down roots
sending out shoots

weathering storms and
basking in sunlight

floods and drought
potbound and replanted

moonlight trysts
and daytime dances

messes and loss
triumph and seasons

fed by love and
seven thousand sunsets

here we are,
still blooming

.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. M.

.

.

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Mar 22 2014

sometimes…

.

you just have to

cozy up

and take a nap

together

.


Jan 23 2014

chill

Last night, despite single-digit temperatures, I went out to dinner with my mom, sister and niece. My body balked at the notion of going anywhere in this cold, but I forced my inner hermit into silence and got dressed to go all the same. And we had a great time, just catching up and laughing and being silly.

Silly is good.

I find myself, especially at this time of year, living by rote, filling my days with habits and patterns and same-old same-old, and it’s nice to veer off the beaten path and walk through a field, cut through an alley, wander aimlessly. I don’t do that often enough.

Lately, I’ve barely had time to write in the mornings, and I am missing that particular habit, one that’s surely worth keeping. My days have felt slightly off, rushed, harried, and it’s taken me this long to figure out why. I’m out of my groove.

But life is funny like that, it doesn’t really allow you to stay in any one rut for very long, things are always changing, shifting, moving. Even when you try to hold your place, you can feel the earth tilting beneath you, forcing you to change your stance just to remain upright.

But change is also good; in some ways, it’s what keeps us going.

I cut all my hair off. (Or rather, I had a professional do it). I’m leaving the house more often, to spend time with the people I love. I’m reading books like they are food. Or air. Or both. I’m organizing.

I look in the mirror and hardly recognize myself.

Except this morning I got up and smiled at the outrageous case of bedhead I’d acquired during the night, looking as if I’d spent the night spinning on my head like a top. (Truly, it’s my superpower).

Ah yes, there I am.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

My inner hermit takes great comfort in that.


Dec 6 2013

reverb13: day 6
reflections are a mirror
of impermanence

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 6: What precious things have you gathered in 2013?
Which memories from this year do you wish to keep with you always
?

::

This is a post I wrote a few months back
for my contribution over at Vision & Verb.
A memory of some memories, a day I will always remember:

Sometimes your see yourself first, and other times, you catch a glimpse of your surroundings. And the truth is, both are mirage.

I sat on the shore of this lake recently, and found myself taken back, to my youth, to years gone past, to yesterdays and forgotten dreams. Mostly, I thought about the things that haven’t changed.

I was there with my father, now 75 to my 50, him fishing and me reading and dreaming, just the way we did when I was a child.

It felt like all those years had never passed. I suppose the only difference was that I cherished the moment, more than I ever could have then, knowing now the value, and the rarity, of such a day.

I had no agenda, and we had no plan. The sun was warm on my face, a mid-October gift.

It was the kind of day to write stories about, the kind of day that plays itself out in quiet minutes ticking off on a clock that no one notices. The kind of day I’ll remember, forever.

And nothing happened. No fish were caught, no deadlines met, nothing of note was accomplished. And yet, it was everything and enough.

This lake, nestled in these mountains, holds bits of my heart from each of the times I have come here. I’ve come here alone, with my husband and our children and their friends, with our parents.

This water holds a lifetime of memories and reflections. And they’re different every time I look. I see grey skies and blues skies, water rippled and murky, quiet mornings clear as glass.

My dad and I sat and listened as leaves fell from trees, laughing at how loud a sound it was.

A sound that will always take me back to this place, an echo of love and light and time’s steady passing.

Our laughter is still out there, somewhere, bouncing back and forth between blue mountains, skimming the surface of this lake to dance with loons.

Next time I come I will only have to stop, and listen.

It’s all right here in this place that calls me home, again and again and again.