the way it all shifts
when you learn
to walk through
rather than running
astray
the way trust
is a shell
balanced on backs
until we outgrow
the idea
the way a heart
always knows
its measure of weight
and its own
constellation of scars
the way hope
is not hollow
and just holding on
is more fragile
than strength to let go
.
.
these days
my time is turned
paying tribute
to lives lost
or never realized
dreams
a heart wove
as you
shoveled sand
into hourglass
of promise
and empty
all the while
pretending
not to notice
the mountain
you were melting
and mostly
it’s all just air
resting ripe in a bowl
far too damaged
for kintsugi
rift-silent and
hover proud
waiting
[still]
and open
always open
for repair
.
.
the year I became
an old woman
was the same year
the snows never came
the same year
your heartless mirror
turned my skin truth-brittle
the same year
black birds refused to fly
and i remembered
(at long last)
how to cry
heart and hands
bent and broken
scrabble-holding
weightless forest
neither you
nor i
but the (w)hole
damn mess
the same year
water taught me
how to whisper
the same year
i spat bitterness
back to center
washed myself clean
the same year
as those that marched
in pattern-dashes
of before
you always leaving
me always loving
someone
never there
and only trees
know the last
ancient riddle
bearing witness to the scars
of hollow hearts
still standing
(always standing)
shedding leaves
like tears
at the threat
of yet another
dark-buried
bold-cold
winter
. . .
.
.
listen to my reading of as it turns out below:
stand tall in the light
of your own deliverance
bury nothing
but roots
grow rings
of truth
spin buds
of grace
and wait
time will spin
your story
into fresh green
dappled
shade
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
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
and i carried silence
limbs crashed as everyone watched
gladiator gold and cold blue judgment
but it tell you, i buried the seeds.
tending was a way of life
and you left me to it
watering
feeding
trimming fat
from bone
it’s not the burnished quiet
that destroys me
it’s the wind echo
petrified singing
cracking hope clear through
those
ring-counted hard-growth years
the sunset stays the same
holding space for another
tomorrow.
all i want is the gift
of a bare sapling
backlit
horizon
…
the squirrel in the tree
i almost can’t see
racing hard
against gravity’s sunrise
hurry hurry
mask survival
in the distance
screams of geese
folding wings
to cold dark water
ever-floating
weary bones
through a litany
of maps
named somewhere
we’re all hearing
the same bold song
set loose
in a blistering sky
all huddled for warmth
beneath fleece
or feather
the ogre
and the ingenue
wrapped together
in the velvet clip
of silence
listening
