In process 

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

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in the works

IMG_3784

These babies are ready to be cast in sterling silver. I put them in plaster on Saturday, they will cook in the kiln for a 24 hour burn out on Tuesday and be ready to cast Wednesday evening. Cant wait!

in procress – ebb and flow

Ebb and flow

Remember there is
beauty in roundness
and bounty

in a body
that has been indulged,
that has produced life.

The forest does not fast
the ocean would not turn away
a child who is hungry

there is space enough and all are welcome.

I am a record keeper,
a memory keeper
with no memory.

So I try to record
in ink and silver
and hunks of bone

But chances of success
are slim.

So we mend what we can
and let go of what we can’t

and for God’s sake stop buying
to try to fill the void.

I dream
but cling so tightly
to what’s real, always
so afraid to lose my
grip.

I believe in plenty
but I am not good
at sharing.

I crave stillness
but I am not still.

I am the ebb and the flow.

I breathe deep
and teach my daughter
to do the same.

Her frustration
is hard for me to bear,
but I bear it.

I change
though I constantly
resist changing.

I do not wait to use what is cherished
I do not wait
I dive in

I am the optimist
who will not die,
who cannot sleep.

I want to be light
But the heaviness
Remains.

The need to soften
is a pattern
repeated a
million times
in my weaving.

in process

The continuity of things
Let us talk about the stars and sky

Do not ask for answers from the trees
And ferns
But instead be them
Learn their ways

Do not judge them for their slow growth

Their growth is steady
And they know how to forgive
Which is a magical quality all its own
And they are patient like no other

We should be as the forest
Blessed and growing
And constant.

Our power lies in each new moment
Time will not disappoint us

Collect the light,
Gather it into the bowl of your bones
Keep it safe until you are at the ocean
And then spread open your hips
And birth it out again
And watch bits of light
Drift into the sky
And out again
Undulating with the waves

I want to learn the language of the bees
The language of blue prints and treasure maps

Create something from the cosmos
From the light you have swallowed
Which is resting on your tongue.

in process

I watch him at 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
Knowing

And am remade
And astounded
At my reality.
and my luck.
At this life
we’ve made together

the sky reminds me
not to question what i already know
what was already 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 middle 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.