I got lonely
I got used up
I may not have been
able to get away
then
but I am
More myself now.
Category: Connection
Whitman’s Hands
for Chris
There’s something about you that makes my heart hum
With what Whitman calls “life”
What Cummings calls puddle-wonder
and becoming “who you really are”
Something about your eyes, playing stars in your head
Or maybe your hands, rough and large
But it isn’t any Thing at all, really
My heart hums with you
Even if I try to ignore the hum, push it out
I can’t pass this stranger by, this knowing
This love
That does not burn, but rather builds up
That does not consume, but rather grows slow
Curls into the sun like peas, smells sweet like tomatoes
The poets were right: noticing is love
Anguish is love too, but much less full of hum
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
Tradition
Egg tree, egg tree, egg
Tree. I need you so badly.
You’re my way back to myself.
April
the clouds descend
not obscuring
not enveloping
they obliterate
what a relief it is
separation
it shocks me
Spring
buds pressing from branches
obstinate and evolving
not like me at all
Poem for Seth
I’ve heard people say
writing about coffee
and cigarettes is not
romantic
definitely not
meaningful
.
still
.
all I can think about
is the cup right there
on the windowsill
with way too much milk
(I bought at Costco)
.
still
.
it makes me feel
better
knowing the Costco-milk-
coffee-tired-mug exists
so meaningless
that it gives me hope
More Than Us
inspired by the squirrels living in our ceiling
I have dreams about large animals
lounging in the rafters
smiling down at me with their kind eyes
lifting feathers with their sighs
the footsteps in my ceiling
they keep me up at night
I imagine they belong to gentle bears
or doves in quiet pairs
this house is home to more than us
but we’ll never see their glorious
asleep behind the table there
aglow with dreams of steadfast care
this house is home to more than us
I wake up to the dinosaurs
trudging through the yard
crying tears and tears and tears and tears and tears
surprised to end up here
polar bears and elephants
otters kissing lambs
I can hear their heartbeats pressed against the walls
I listen for their calls
this house is home to more than us
but we’ll never see their glorious
asleep behind the table there
aglow with dreams of steadfast care
this house is home to more than us
ephemeral ancestors
second day of February
and she’d already dreamt of her
twice
there, by the river,
draped in her rubies and pearls
standing in socks with a cupful of tea,
i wonder if i’ll ever see her again
her sadness the hero i saw
when i drew her in tie dye, in crayon
let’s be trees
let’s be trees
so we can kiss
warm & naked
with quiet sky surrounding
Grammy
I’ll go to visit you
In the green fields of my youth
Your skin as soft as flowers
That dot the hillside
My mother she will hold
Your hand until she knows
That you will safely make it
Through her memories
I remember summer treats
Blueberries between my teeth
Raw cane sugar in a little bowl
Whole-oat oatmeal by the window
I can’t recall the sound
Of your voice while we sat around
The dining room table full
Of food we had to share
I loved that magnet on your fridge
Of Jesus on a tie die binge
I’d get him down to his underwear
Then dress him up again
Siena Rose 