tending to time
already the to-do list
has spilled off the table
and squeezed under the doorjamb
smothering to-be time
I’m making a small circle of now
outlining places to file down
to keep things smooth
life mindlessly carries us along
until we remember
to tend rootlets all around
inheritance
what would he think of his wife
whittling away his children’s wealth
erasing their names
by the respective x’s,
and inserting her own,
including his difficult surname
that she’d earned
over the long hard years
lying beside his failing body
he was mostly all business
proud of his cold calculations
he watched the stock ticker crawl
from his hospital bed
and once, after opposing counsel shamed him,
he pinned the man in the courthouse elevator,
threatened him and others to come
but sometimes he was pleased
to unfist his hands
smugly magnanimous
glad to be the bigger man
or perhaps generous with guilt
I think he’d just be disappointed
in any one of us who failed to fight
his money wasted (he’d mutter)
on idiots
who ought to have learned
how to hold on to a gift
Thunder Pass
we go to the mountains
to be awed
humbled by all the creations
more beautiful than ourselves
violet-blue delphinium
rose-pink queen’s crown
Snow Lake gleaming blue-grey
in midday sun
midway between summer and fall
we fall hopelessly in love
with big spaces
uncontrollable forces
feeling tiny and peaceful
blissfully letting go
of the illusion of control
we put one foot in front of the other
trusting the path
open to anything
thankful for each wondrous bit
of color light sound being
that passes our way
friendship, camping
someone who wants to be with me
just for who I am
not because we share blood
not due to desire
not because I’m useful
just because we like each other
rarest of souls
just for you I’m weaving
a crown of gentian blossom
and rabbit fur
golden butterfly wing
and lime green moss –
all that I have to offer
besides a handful of M&Ms
and my authentic grateful heart
so at home with you
Pepper
he always seems to be smiling
large brown eyes curious and calm
beak mostly quiet
as if he has one eyebrow arched
wondering what off-base thing
we might do next
even when he was way up in the aviary
high enough to believe he was the boss
he willingly came to us
amazing
Would you like to be part of our family?
I ask
not sure what yes looks like
a few weeks ago he flew down out of the sky
to another family who couldn’t take him
as if asking for
some warm humans
to love him and keep him safe
I hope that’s us
that we’re worth falling from heaven for
August First
August sneaks up
just when you feel you’re
safely in the thick of summer
lazing through July
but school and structure
are only a breath away
the days are getting shorter
I feel it tonight
but with the dark
comes candlelight’s glow
and the warmth of the cheery lanterns
strung overhead
these are the days when
I would take my new school shoes
out of their cardboard box
admire them and smell the stiff leather
then close them back in the closet
prepared to suck whatever juice summer had left
from that popsicle quickly losing its color and tang
going ice-grey
Thanksgiving: Animals
A Little Noticing
In our little yard today I spied
a red-mustached flicker
hammering away at the powerline pole
and the hole
a male house sparrow with only
half a beard
(out-of-breeding-season plumage)
two wildly different grasshoppers and
a velvet-black jumping spider
in and out of the bed.
Who knows how many other souls
I failed to find
and
what they meant to say,
blessed hearts beating
a wall away from mine
living our own loops
hiding deep in our snug holes.
never enough time
seconds flash by like
bullet trains
possibilities closed off
for what feels like forever
choosing choosing choosing
living with a lump in my throat
and an eye on the sweep
of the second hand
barely time to gather the beloveds
in a hug
and all this in a time
when our past life has slowed
to the mere vibration of
a solid
its crystal lattice holding space
for us to do something
meaningful
deliberate
intentional
with time now
and still it’s not enough
at least I haven’t made it be enough
to be able to rest
doubt
typing up the manuscript
one moment it’s
wow!
next minute I hear internal paper crumpling
along with my confidence
is it any good?
does it have any teeth
any heart
any tears?
(I’m decidedly uninterested in brains)
sometimes I feel like
I’m removing my insides
polishing them up
artfully plating them for consumption
then nervously waiting for them
to be sent back to the kitchen
other times I feel
I’m just spinning candy floss
making a big sweet pastel globe
of fluffy nothingness
good on the tongue
but nothing to bite into
nothing to stick to your bones
and keep you going
when you’re out chopping wood
I don’t know
what the world wants
from what I can do
all I can do is trust
keep learning and growing wiser
keep giving what I manage to make
and take pleasure watching
my work leave my hands
not worrying so much
about where it comes to rest
