all my excuses
disappear on black wings—
crows scattering from the field
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged crow, excuses, haikuling, willingness | 1 Comment »
when my daughter stumbles
sleepy-eyed from her room
and no matter what I’m doing,
I stop and move to the corner
of the couch so she can settle
her whole weight on me.
Maybe we speak of dreams.
Maybe we converse with the cat.
Maybe we plan the day.
Maybe we say nothing at all.
All that matters is that
she is close and I nuzzle my face
into her hair and wrap an arm
around her chest and know
this is the beginning of everything,
the seed, the cosmic swirl,
the headline that’s never written.
To foster one moment of trust
and love is to belong
to a crucial revolution.
It matters, how we hold each other.
What happens everywhere
starts right here.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daughter, love, microcosm, mother, mother's day | 8 Comments »
Far away my mother
reaches across the bed
for my father’s hand
that isn’t there. Still,
she says, she almost
feels it, just as I almost,
even now, feel her hand
rubbing the gentle pad
of her thumb across
my own thumbnail.
Perhaps someday
when I am gone,
my daughter, too,
will almost feel a whisper
of a kiss on her brow
that reminds her how
I kiss her tonight,
as always, with my lips
pressed to that place
just above her eyes
as I murmur that I love her.
Perhaps it will surprise
her how real it still feels,
the words no longer audible,
but I hope by then
she will know them by heart.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daughter, love, mom, mother's day | 8 Comments »
They are faded, the pink roses
made of fabric someone left
at your grave, and the leaves,
once green, are faint shades
of yellow, and I love them,
these petals that are so much more
than frayed polyester,
transformed as they are
into remembrance. Someone
else misses you, too.
Why does this move me so?
I, too, am fraying. Fading.
Being unmade. I do not mind
the undoing, the new way of being
less interested in perfection.
It’s what happens,
the price for choosing
to show up in all weather
to honor who we love.
I weep for a while beside
the granite with your name in it.
As always, you’re still with me
when I go.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged artificial flowers, bereaved mother's day, fading, flowers, grave, grief, love | 6 Comments »
Each night before dinner
I slide my hand, palm up,
across the table toward yours,
and always, you rest your hand on mine,
the way a petal might land on a leaf,
the way a leaf might land on grass.
So gentle your hand
that is equally at home in my hand
as it is in the engine of an old Toyota truck
or tightening a valve on the irrigation pump,
wielding a chainsaw or dripping hot wax
onto a ski before scraping it off.
So many ways I don’t know your hands—
how they fidgeted when you were a child,
how they fumbled when you first tied a shoe,
what they clutched when you felt alone.
But now, they are nearly as familiar to me
as my own hands—how your hands
flutter up to press to your lips,
how they cup each other to create
a small cave you breathe into when thinking,
how they pull through my hair
when I lay my head in your lap,
how they help me to know my own shape,
how one hand of yours will rest
against one hand of mine
to tether us even in sleep.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged hands, love, marriage | 12 Comments »
The way grass belongs to the meadow—
how without it, the meadow
would not be a meadow—
this is the way you belong in my heart.
Not that I’ve made a space for you here,
more that you’ve helped make my heart what it is,
and without you, my heart is not my heart.
I cradle you here as in a nest of wheat—
soft home, humble home, ever rewoven
to fit the exact shape of you.
It’s not true our hearts are our own—
they’re symbiotic as meadows in spring.
The heart exists for who grows in it.
You belong here like sunshine, like grass, like wind.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged belonging, friendship, grass, love, meadow | 4 Comments »
I was beautiful then, I think,
when I look at the picture
that Facebook shows me
from nine years ago.
I was slenderer, my shoulders
well-muscled, my brown hair
not threaded with gray.
But I remember the day
that picture was taken,
and I know full well
the woman smiling did not
believe she was beautiful,
though perhaps she would
have looked at an image
of herself from nine years before
and thought oh, I was beautiful then.
How is it beauty is something
I can’t see in myself in this moment,
only from a decade away?
So today, when I look in the mirror
and see the papier-mâché skin
above my eyes, the deepening lines
that etch my lower lip to my chin,
the thick hips, the thick thighs,
I try to see myself with the eyes
of myself nine years from now
knowing she would look
at the woman in the mirror
and say to me, sweetheart,
I’m not surprised you cannot see
what I see, how the broken world
has opened you, changed you.
And though it has nothing to do
with your eyes, your hair,
my goodness, you are beautiful.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged beauty, future self, self talk | 6 Comments »
the first cello note
as the bow touches the strings—
my heart as you open the door
Posted in Uncategorized | 6 Comments »
I said yes today when Linda asked
if I’d like a nutritious drink to go.
You’ll need the protein, she said, as she slipped
the bottle into a paper bag. I said yes
when she offered to bring me food later.
Said yes when she offered to bring me wine.
And when Steve said, Let’s go outside,
I said yes. Yes as he showed me the best spot
to sit to face east in the morning. Yes
as he showed me the place to face west.
And later when Joan asked if she could hold me—
one palm to my chest, one palm to my back,
her forehead touched to my shoulder—
I said yes. I said yes as she helped me
to carry boxes and bags. Said yes
as she handed me water. I, the queen of no,
said yes. I, who have thought I could do it
alone, I who desperately want to not be a burden,
I who have longed for control,
I who have made a small cell out of no
said yes and felt the doors of reluctance
swing open then fall off their hinges then
dissolve into gratefulness. How long
have I thought I needed to do this alone?
How long have I clung to this island
of separateness? How sweet
it tastes, this yes. Like chocolate,
with thirty grams of protein no less.
Like pure water, offered in a small white cup,
something I need to live. Something I’m made of.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged friends, help, no, yes | 8 Comments »
There is an old woman inside me
with long gray hair and fuzzy green eyes.
She is soft in the way stones are soft
when tumbled by waves for a hundred years.
She is still as I run from room to room
content to listen to my bluster,
to watch the day unfold.
Her smile is gentle as dawn light
as she hums a wordless tune.
And as I make calls and check schedules,
she curls in the lap of my busyness
like an ash-colored cat,
her body warm and relaxed.
I love the old woman inside me,
gnarled as the branches of an old peach tree.
She is no stranger to how the world changes.
Every day I practice to be more like her,
slow as honey, quiet as moonlight,
familiar as the woman in the mirror.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged aging, inner self | 10 Comments »