that's mrs. mediocrity to you

planting a seed
is the purest form of hope
gathering bits
of wither and dry
just to bury them again
in deep dark places

this is also magic
or miracle
witchever you prefer

a garden never fails

to ground you

embrace you

in its heartless
beautiful mess

if you listen
roots are always
whispering

history and herstory
running deep beneath hard beds
of mud and promise
sun and storm
harsh wind and captured
lightning

and you
determine

nothing

i am the woman
who

saves cards and
old ribbons
in cupboards with
pale blue jars

spins trees
from yarn
and tales
from saplings

sings louder than
bold crows
just to see them cut
black sky

burns bridges
and receipts
with both indifference
and aplomb

carries all of it
up hope mountain
to send down
avalanche and thrill

looks in the mirror
and understands:
loving you was never
my maxim

: :

i did it anyway

: :

twenty-one years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

.

I wrote this for the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event.

I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.

Never forget.

.

windows
wide open
for a moment
of fresh

inhale
exhale
bounce off
horizon

bird song dawn
and sunset singing

we’re all here
spreading green

it’s all new
all old
the same
same
circle

always here
lending

a hand

…

twenty years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

.

I wrote this for the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event.

I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.

Never forget.

.

i built a new corner
and walked straight into it

left the paint on the floor

drying

held my arms high and my head straight

buried the forgotten

forgave the remembered

worshiped nothing

but silence
and the tenacity

of trees

throwing spring green buds
into air

like so much
confetti

squirrel fight

dove coo

blue jay belligerent

.

skin soaking up sun

anti mirror

wide smile

prismatic

.

desiderata

forgotten

.

and she walked
the center line
straight past the pond
of forgiveness

.

the right thing
is almost never
the easiest thing

and i watch you
doing everything
the hard way

taking root
in the furrow
of new growth

this morning the sun
strode straight past
the center of longing

we’re both here

(or there)

dawning

…

nineteen years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

.

I wrote this for the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event.

I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.

Never forget.

.

morning mirror and happenstance
pulling hope down at the corners
of a month meant for introspection

snow blows sideways against a window
curtained

a sparrow fights for survival

everyone, everywhere
arguing about books

and this is silence
holding tight
to a morning
short on light

showing up
as always
never quite
arriving

.