in progress: the only language that matters

Orange peels

A wise woman tells me,
make space, new ideas will come

and so I try to identify
what I no longer need.

When the world is burning,
not somewhere else but here

and collectively we know that it will be a while
before this dark is over,

still, it is only a small shattering
and maybe the specific path does not matter

maybe orange peels in a pile in the sink
don’t have to mean anything

and maybe when it feels like we are
living in a circular world

with no doors
or answers,

when there is so much fire
everywhere

inside
and out

when forward motion
feels better –

we keep moving
as if action is the only language that matters

maybe the hardest part
is always allowing things to die.

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Circadian

Rising is:

the knowledge
that I have
everything
I need;

missing an old friend,
so odd that it has been
three years;

the joy
and monotony
of each day;

anxiety at knowing I can’t do it all,
that I will always disappoint someone;
the cold crisp air outside;
learning to structure an
unstructured day;

too much want,
and a desire to release;

learning that not enjoying
does not make me a failure;

that I can be disappointed by those I love
and still love them;

Rising is
faith
taking us
gently into each new day.

Grey Bed Sheets

I close my eyes and see
my mother at my age, two
girls following close behind,
her with dark long lovely hair
and tired eyes.

There are a million small questions
that may not have a true or clear or
simple answer.

My sleep deprived brain
has to be reminded to
not wait for clarity –
just do
move
act,
the rest will come

later.

It is near but not yet daybreak.
I open the front door and walk
out into the dark. Tree frogs
hop wildly out of my way
as they too apparently
ventured out into
the damp night.

The simple is sacred
I see so clearly in the
quiet of the early morning
alone with my baby daughter.

We are as we should be
sleepy and smiling
together atop
grey bed sheets.

Soon to be published in Switch (The Difference) Anthology by Kind of a Hurricane Press

Dig

IMG_1597

The winged creatures
took over the skies
as we watched them.
“watch your eyes!”
she yelled to me
as I walked confidently
out on the porch.

The magic of it was enough
to command me to action.

I began checking dreams
off my list
one by one.
Working hard and quickly
but sometimes missing
the joy with my constant
planning.

When a problem arises,
I remind myself,
it is best to dig at the root
instead of hacking away wildly
at the leaves.

I watch them flock together
with no clear leader.
How nice it must be
to not have a need for control.