in process

In the fall time
when the harvest comes
and the air turns cool
And I am left alone

I become both angry and afraid
In demand
Pulled and pushed and prodded and needed

But then a routine emerges
We grow accustomed

And then
I feel powerful
Capable
Independent

sometimes feel s like the end of the world
And sometimes feels all together manageable,

We are such moody creatures
We women,

We bribe and we plead
With ourselves
And these small creatures
Who surround us

We move as if one hand is tied behind our backs
We accomplish
Against all odds.
We feel so very alone.

Its not that we have to make all the hard decisions
Its that all decisions are now hard.

we know enough to allow the struggle

We love our small tyrants

We wait for rain,
For puddles and splashing

Wait for dark
For the moonrise
Which we watch in awe together,
Her love for the moon is something I did not teach
She came to it on her own
Or was born with it perhaps
Innate
As some things are.

We regrow

We harvest
We eat
And dig
And dry
And try to make things last for as long as possible

We bring the colors of the outside in

We peel and plan for next year

We are in a place that is strange
Unfinished,
Because truthfully every place is strange and unfinished

We each feel a full rainbow of emotion
Forgetting in the moment that they are each a gift

Forgetting the feeling of going years without the release of a good solid cry
Without so many portions of a truthful life

And truthfully we cannot be powerfully anything
Without being truthful

Loudly truthful
Irritatingly truthful.

I wonder often why so many others can do it
So much better than me

Forgetting that perception is a liar
Always taking us down impossible paths

But I will try to instead
Declare my truths loudly
And in that declaration
Hope that I am heard

I will remember that
decomposition brings fertility
and so release what is dark and thick
And smells like life

prepare the ground around us
So it is full of richness from
the selves that we let fall away

solstice notes

How we honor the sun

We make a fire to burn what is no longer needed
We eat berries fed by the sun
Their sweetness is full of the energy of her light
We provide water to what we’ve planted
Which they drink up gradually

She runs through droplets
Falling joyfully into green grass
And marches barefooted through thickets
And under trees

We surrender to the water
Let it wash over skin
Sink in

Float
Listen
And then
Light the fire.

poetry in process

Bones on the brain

The whole house is sleeping
I am sleepy too
but sleep felt like a waste of precious time
so I am here
Glassey eyed,
sketching skulls.

We cut through bones
Yesterday evening in the dark
On the front porch.
He held the pruners
And I held the baby
While her and I
Watched his strength
Cut through

Now I have bones on the brain.

I think both
of their strength
and fragility

Remembering how easily
my own have broken

The other day a woman showed me how
The inside of a human skull
Has a pattern on it that looks just like
A leaf pressed into silver

In the crisp air and quiet
Of an empty room in the early morning
It seems quite natural,
That each should be
inside the other.

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.

rise to the surface – in process

I woke this morning
Filled with dreams,
With want

But the want frightens me
As I am unable to untangle it
From discontent
And heartache

But when I am quiet
And honest
My dreams rise to the surface
Like a sea turtle in mama ocean
Raising his head out ever so gently
Through the surface of the water
For a bit of air.

When I look them in the eye
I see they are not a thing
To be afraid of.

work in progress

A night in harvest
 
Aria and Morgan sleep in the bedroom quietly
A fan blows in the other room
It is full dark out
And the windows are open.
 
I can hear the strong breeze in the leaves
That are just starting to turn.
 
I think sometimes that I would feel whatever I feel
Good or bad
Regardless of whatever life event or circumstance
I am blaming my mood on.
 
I swallow disappointment
 
Let it go I tell myself.
 
Release it
Release it
Release it
 
This work is surely good
For the soul and skin
 
The moon was up and full this morning as I drove to work
 
Some truths are only found in darkness
In the cleanliness of dirt and ground and natural things
Breaking down
 
Hold space for detris
And decomposition
 
That is how the transformation happens.
 
And that is the magic.

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.