All

It’s all about leaning forward.

 

In the moments fear grabs your neck like a thief

and you don’t know where you belong–

the sky or the ground–

realize that all we can do is lean into the moment.

 

It’s all about being honest with yourself,

about yourself.

 

In the times joy cradles you in their arms

like a newborn child

know that you, too, can rest–

realize that you, too, are safe as long as you exist.

 

It’s all about loving yourself,

the darkness and the light.

 

Society comes up with names for every game we play,

whether it’s in our head and back again

the way we look up at skyscrapers and billboards

beach walkways and desert islands

your children are my children

we are all of the same skin

just let me in on the secret of sin

there’s no winning or losing,

there’s just where you are

and where you’ve been

in these bodies we pray

these genes aren’t moving today

they’ve taken up residence for a reason

in an effort to survive despite the season

trust in your Self, above all else

no matter what name you’ve learned,

you are here Now,

so love all of your Self,

not just some.

 

April 10, 2016

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The Revenant

Last night,

at the movie,

you sat next to me.

 

The theater

was full,

I sat alone

between you

and three guys,

conscious

of my singleness.

 

But then you

rolled over,

to share his faux

leather recliner,

and I smiled.

 

Most of the time,

my independence

likes being alone.

 

It gets its own seat.

 

March 5, 2016

You

So you–

you–

want to write a poem?

 

Start by walking out your front door

and saying hello to every face you meet:

bird in the sky,

leaf on the lawn,

a summer wind falling gently over you

and you still–

still–

want to write a poem?

 

After an over-worked day at the office

gray cubicles and clear ice cubes clinking

on paper cups I just want to make sure

I’ve heard you right:

you,

who wakes up every morning

just to paint the sunrise;

you,

who tallies ticket orders

and buys Christmas presents,

builds log cabins

and feeds the homeless;

you

who has ever wondered

what your place is on this Earth–

you

want to write a poem?

 

The Earth hears your beckoning,

is waiting for you

to open up

open the door to your soul

and realize that man-made

will always have its limits…

the mountain peak will always

surpass Mountain Dew

and wild thoughts fall flat

onto to the blue horizon,

spread out like a quilt

nature made just for you.

 

Hear it whisper,

my dear,

that beating in your heart.

 

You mustn’t

simply

write a poem.

 

You are the poem.

 

December 9, 2015

Watching the Clock

Love

is a drug

that just keeps on giving

despite its worth,

commercialized

side effects

how to handle

a man

one on one

a manual

I was never given–

where is it?

 

The time I found

the nail

and all I wanted

was a hammar

to put me back in my place

I found you,

instead–

eyes glazed over

from the fact

that I was a well enabled

woman

to kick your ass

back to second base

 

Just tell me a story,

dear Love,

of how you existed

among priests

and kings

and witches

and me,

stories of younger days

past narratives

water drowning

my teacup

and all I want is an answer,

or at least the right question,

’cause I know I’m responsible

for making something–

more than this house

all alone,

wondering what time

to expect Love

to come

knocking on my door.

 

November 24, 2015

Some Short Narratives

Lately, instead of writing consistent poems, I’ve done small drawings of people accompanied by their thoughts/a quick story and a saying on their shirt. I’ll share some here (although I’m not ready to share any of my drawings!  I’m no artist, trust me). The saying is the second phrase of each “poem”:

I.

Our “real” selves

don’t need to be thought of

or complicated,

embellished or held.

Do not attach yourself

to any one thing –

you will find me in the space between…

The letting go is where true strength lies.

II.

With blood

running through you

do not judge a thing–

the sky will remain blue for you

don’t you see?

Look all in the eyes,

tilt your head back,

let it go–

society is a disguise,

not a truth,

don’t you know?

Simply Be.

September 21-23, 2015

City Living

We live here,

apartment three

floor four–

it’s confusing,

I know.

Burgundy molding

pinches the outside of my window,

a gentle beauty

I did not expect to find on my side

of New York City.

The big picture is always on my mind;

and yet I so rarely see it.

I can stand across the street

and trace the molding with my finger,

flowers and leaves winding down,

perfectly framing a place

that makes home feel a little bit closer.

My head hurts, sometimes.

Despite the pretty picture

I can still hear the questions

layered in the window pane,

stories corned in by concrete slabs

and the society

we close our doors and try to hide from

We cannot lock ourselves away forever.

My eyes are beginning to open,

learning what it means to not just think

holistically

but to be whole;

not just to trace the molding

but to hold the painting,

turn the knob,

open the door.

September 18, 2015