They, too, once had gardens filled
with succulent dark leaves and firm
swollen roots they planted to feed
their family, their community, themselves.
They, too, would walk the rows and tug
at weeds and make small, quirky bouquets
to take to the graves of their loved ones.
I don’t know why their gardens are gone now.
Perhaps covered in ash from wildfire.
Perhaps bombed out and torn up by war.
Perhaps transformed to dust by drought.
Or perhaps they are simply too old now
to pick up the trowel, the shovel,
the hoe. But the women remember
how they marveled at the pea vines climbing
the fence to produce a profusion of sweet
green pods dangling on the wire.
I long to feed them from these beds,
if not the food itself, feed them at least the ongoing
dream of garden, as someday I, too,
will be offered the dream through the hands
and thoughts of another woman who finds herself
standing in the midst of abundance longing
to share it with all the women who can’t
find their way into the garden today.
Not knowing how to bless them, I bless them anyway
as I have been blessed, and I transplant calendula,
deadhead the cosmos, harvest
heads of garlic, brush the loose dirt away.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged abundance, blessing, gardening, women | Leave a Comment »
The bright red glow of wildfire flared up
into the night, a terrible, beautiful, changing glow.
We couldn’t not look, students of fire
that we are, and I was suddenly too aware
of the dry and brittle parts of myself, places
parched as these Cimarron mountains.
How easily it can all go up.
We are asked to live this life
that can combust in an instant,
asked to pull the unstoppable into our lungs.
The glow continued to blaze, to leap up.
It burned. I could not stop watching
the tower of flame, the way it charged the night.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged fire, wildfire | 2 Comments »
First, they start close to the floor,
practice walking heel to toe, practice
bouncing and turning and gazing
at a distant object instead of looking
down at their feet. As the stakes
and the rope get higher, they
begin to practice failure. Practice
hanging from the wire for long
periods of time. Practice holding
their own weight. This. Perhaps
this is what we are doing now
with democracy. Practicing
how to hold up our weight.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
View it all as practice. Trust that balance
depends on tension. Trust that
every step matters.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged America, failure, practice, risk, tight rope | 4 Comments »
all those feelings of brokenness
I tried to throw away
now shining in the starlight
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged brokenness, feelings, shining | 4 Comments »
for Sister Roseann and the Monastic Congregation of St. Scholastica
On the left wrist of the nun
with the silver hair and soft eyes
was a bracelet made by a child.
Small white cubes with black all caps
proclaimed, “NEVER GROW UP.”
With an impish shrug of her shoulders
she explained she might have written
“NEVER GIVE UP.” And I thought
how for fifteen hundred years
her order has flourished through
the rise and fall of the Mongol Empire,
The British Empire, the Aztecs,
Bart Simpson, Mickey Mouse.
Has grown through the introduction of zero
as a standalone number and paper money,
gunpowder and windmills and the compass.
Has seen the creation of moveable type
and the steam engine, has witnessed
the telegraph and email and bots that answer the phone.
And I felt it inside her, still growing,
the devotion of centuries, the kind of faith
that lives on past plastic bracelets,
cherry Twizzlers and Instagram, a community
grown in the deep, rich soil of humility,
simplicity, hospitality, moderation and prayer.
I felt it in her open smile, in the
kind way she held my hand in hers,
in the way she reframed her work
as faithfulness, I felt her trust
that some things continue to prosper
against all odds, this, the gift of never
growing up, of never giving up,
of ever growing beyond understanding.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Benedictines, community, history, humility, longevity, religion | 6 Comments »
she felt the gift
of her own darkness
how it uplifts
even the smallest light
as treasure
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged darkness, firefly, light | 1 Comment »
Sometimes a wound must stay a wound.
—James Crews, “Wound”
Sometimes I remember a wound
must stay a wound. Why then,
this impulse to bring you a vase of blue
larkspur, white lilies and a blessing
instead of sitting with you in the dark
and letting what is dark be dark.
When I am brave enough to see
beyond my longing to soothe,
all I want is to be with you in the dark.
To steep together in the uncomfortable ache.
To quietly meet you in the wounded place
so you know you are not alone.
Perhaps I will always send you lilies,
but let me also trust how necessary it is,
the open ear, this tenderness,
this willingness to be with,
more gift than any flower.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged being with, fixing, friendship, wound | 3 Comments »
I see them everywhere, hearts.
In cumulous clouds and sunflower leaves.
In thinly sliced strawberries
and the dark hollow of a split hickory nut.
I see them in white bird shit splatted on a bench,
these symmetrical kissing curves
designated as an ideograph for love.
And how many hundreds of heart rocks
have I slipped into my pockets to bring home
like sedimentary and igneous proofs
of love manifest in matter.
I don’t know when I stopped collecting
the rocks, finding more joy in picking
them up and displaying them trailside
so others could delight in them, too.
Later, I took pictures of the hearts
where I found them, wanting not to disturb,
perhaps trusting that love shows up
exactly where it is needed most.
Now, when I see them,
I will most likely smile to myself
as I walk by, no longer needing
to stockpile or keep a record.
Still, it surprises me every time,
the joy of loving things just as they are,
the joy of leaving things whole.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged collecting, heartsong, leaving things, letting go, rocks | 2 Comments »
She lets us touch her neck, her back, that beautiful,
old, black mustang. Cautiously, we flank her
and stroke her taut sides, our hands full of praise.
Her large gray eyes droop. She begins to drool.
Joe laughs, saying she is so at ease
she is about to fall asleep.
I am thinking of how every morning I take
calcium, B-vitamins, drink water with lemon,
believing small daily habits make a big difference
over time. Perhaps it is the same with awe—
spending even a few moments a day touching
something greater than we are will eventually
change who we are inside. I believe that tonight,
moved as I am by the surprising softness of her hips,
the trust she conveys with her stillness, my palm
moving slowly against her side. Her ease becomes
my ease as I watch my daughter rest her forehead
on the mustang’s withers. The great being’s trust
becomes my trust as the sunset turns
the whole world to amber, to gold.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged awe, Grace Reins, horse, mustang, self-care, trust | 4 Comments »