New poem up at Winedrunk Sidewalk: Shipwrecked in Trumpland

The next phase 

I sit back and watch as the unreal becomes real

horrors become usual

and outrage begins to fade.


Responsibility is not a negative,

a dirty word

to be avoided.


I am both here and not here.


Grief makes it more real

and less,

I don’t know

what comes next.


The moon was full last night

as we stepped out into the cold


this will be our last

time seeing the moon

over this particular field and hills.


I mourn it

but I am ready

to move to the

next phase.


Reuse could be the battle cry

for this generation

and the next


I am confident

that overall we are

getting smarter,


we must be

I tell myself

as I watch two boys

at preschool chase each other

around with a plastic saw.

The teacher calls after them,

“it’s not a weapon,

it’s for building things.”


They continue on in their game.


It stops raining finally

after 11 days of non-stop

water dropping from the sky


and for a moment

everyone’s mood is lightened.

snippets in process

I have never been more aware of my body
Of how I feel in it and who I am in it
And how it makes me what I am
And is so lovely and so capable even in its imperfection
I am more connected to it than ever before
For the good and the bad and the salty
And the sweet
And those times I want to cry but cant
And think of those whose bodies betrayed them
And how we can bathe one another in love
And intention and healing and light
And maybe things will turn out the way we thought they would
And maybe they will turn out so much better than that
But maybe a friend will still die, even though his wife is bringing his son into the world
Maybe she will still leave
And things will break and crack and decay
But from that detritus will rise something else
And we will love each other for as long as humanly [possible
And the earth will love us for long after that.

poems in process

Another version of one shared here a week or two ago. Still not finished, but I think getting closer:


I watch him through the window
out in the rain,
burning what we no longer need
and transplanting a basil plant
from the garden so that
we can taste its flavor
during the cold sleep
of winter.

I watch him
Without him

And am remade.

How thankful I am now for the places that built him

He lets me tell him
the worst thing I have ever done
The worst host of things,
And looks me in the eye,
takes my face in his large hands
And makes me know that it is alright.

That I am alright.
And we always will be
All right

So how could I not
Do the same for him now
when his sins Are so much
smaller and more easily
Left behind.

I dream of driving through the dessert
My pregnant belly bulging
And our girl in her seat in the back
Singing along to the radio

the sky reminds me
not to question what i already know
what has already been revealed.

I speak to God often

and sometimes
he speaks back.

He almost always
waves hello when
the wind rustles
the leaves
on the large tree
by the driveway
and the sound is
so lovely
and noticeable
that even
my 1 ½ year old
stops her splashing
in the mud puddle
and turns to listen.

Sometimes I do what I do
(walk in the woods or write a poem)
because it’s the only way
I know how to pray.

a Thanksgiving poem

On this day of thanksgiving
I will give thanks
for clouds

and the linings of clouds,
for bare feet in grass
and painted toenails.
For blues above and greens below,
for trees (oh trees, I could write

an entire book giving thanks for trees)
and birds and baby animals of all kinds.

For taste and all things good and edible.
For open eyes and hands closed around hands.

For distances
and coming closer
and time and learning
to be patient when it is
so so hard to wait.

For books and those who write them,
for a warm fire or cold drink,
for everything natural
and brown and dirty
that gets under your fingernails.
For hellos and gravel roads
and a first glimpse of a new place.
For trust and all it leads to
and for old friends.
For passionate fighting
and loves of all kinds,
for goodbyes

and family eating around a table,
even if a few of you wish you were

somewhere else, thank God that you are there

and here and wherever you will be tomorrow.