This Cracked Violin

Consider a heart as this cracked violin this instrument of various parts does it matter where it’s from? Not descended from noble European houses, it has not played in Marseilles no craftsman in Italian baroque leaned close and breathed genius into the grain.   My fiddle is a metis fiddle but not Metis, not from Red River and…

Simple

Joy is the Simplest Form of Gratitude – Karl Barth   He has walked out now, into the night and the starfields, whose honest face shines as did his own. his long shadow slow voice, and devotion circled the pole-star of love, unwavering and if he did waver, and if he did tire then it…

1986: the stereo stand

it was 1986 and my brother had made a stereo stand it was crap, frankly, a cry of despair if you knew how to read such things, but i didn’t. we just liked having a stereo stand because of course, my sister had a stereo she also had me, and her old pal as room…

Fire Moon: Waiting for the Tide

listening to the radio, a mother telling of her son, calling the sun a fire moon. she speaks of driving through the burned city, where there were glowing trees that were coals themselves, still standing. our home is listed among havens for the homeless, and now we await the slowly gathering tide of people. many…

May 2: What if I Go Singing?

I live in an elm cathedral, where i live there is room for birds. Lady bees bustle rummage sale in the shrubberies all May long. Here, too, the song. I know what i must do, every day lift up the song, the old song, let it be heard here in these streets, let this cathedral…

Day 25: Smoothing the Spirit

old houses hold on. the first day i saw this house i knew it was my home, knew its many windows. its east facing door was the first thing i painted. upstairs, early on, we removed that beige broadloom peculiar to quick flips. such old wood in some rooms refinished, but under the carpet, a ruin, old…

Day 22: Giovanni Caboto’s Trees

this morning’s sun, still pentecostal waters new leaves in broad crowned elms adorned, crowns within crowns with magpie nests, wind-riding as my spring-daft hounds cavort i see again the crowd that day our city, post-millennial, had hired an american urban expert to tell us what to need, now that we’d turned that corner into accepting,…

Day 18: Sakura

Sakura, Yayoi no sora wa… suddenly, this morning, the nanking cherry threw open her curled fists cards on the table, this is the hand given gambling on a full house.

Day 14: Politics and the Hardware Store

nobody knows anyone our secret power lines and the larger lines underwriting over-arching, architecture of the power mad. the young women warriors yell at me, not knowing i’ve been yelled at all my life and i see it passing by. i was young when people hid native ancestry and my family refused that. it was…

In the Woods

We all have our comfort zones. Mine used to be in the woods of our farm, where all the paths were known and peopled with stories and songs. This summer, my sister and i walked those woods again, with our daughters. The girls came and found us, actually; they’d headed out to explore, and felt…

Wood Grain Magics

Spent part of the morning staining a fence, observing the swift and easy rise of minutiae by which Life lets us know how relentless it can be. How long, i wondered, would it take for the small legions to take down this fence? A little longer, now, where the stain drags time down to a…