May 23: Heart
become accustomed to the weight memory lays across your heart lift it anyway become schooled in the crack and creak pain of rising one more time kneel anyway numb your skin to the lash every absence a thorn lean in somewhere in all this brush and scrub meaning and renewal send green tight curled leaves…
Originally posted on O at the Edges:
? Firewood For two years the oak loomed, leafless. We had aged together, but somehow I survived the drought and ice storms, the regret and wilt, the explosions within, and it did not. I do not know the rituals of trees, how they mourn a passing, or…
In the Garden, Retilled
you can’t hurry dirt garbage to rich brown, seasons and the efforts of millions, obedient to life, composing, compost, calm pose, compelled to completion so small against it all, tidal wave, tectonic thrust, breath ocean exploding, green threads back toward the sun. does any given microbe know daylily blooms? And here’s the 2009 edit,…
Beginning and Beginning and Beginning
Today, they took the statue down in Kjipuktuk, or Halifax town in Mi’kmaki, mapped as Nova Scotia along the stormy Atlantic Ocean Where did it begin? This need to raise up monuments to men who call for deaths of other men and women and children and ways and lay a bounty on our scalps…
Stable: Muzak vs. the Manger Song
So, “Christmas in the heart puts Christmas in the air.” WT Ellis* Sometimes it is just muzak. When that happens, commercialism is the heart of it. The best commercial Christmas can render is something vaguely performative, sour breathed and tiresome. A true performance connects to real need; and there is no real need for all…
Day 28: Migratory
overhead, but far cranes are riding on thermals city cruise singing.
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 11: Play
new green leaves begin song that will play all summer first notes play lightest.
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…