sound work
I am rolling o’s and l’s
into lolling logjams
pushing s’s and z’s
into lazy buzzes
growling r’s gutturally
until they resound
in the hollow chamber of your chest
trying to use
little dots and lines
to make you feel
something
new in your body
not just your conscious crown
Hashkiveinu* for Jared Polis
putting our lives back together
one pillowcase plate and
disconnected pipe at a time
while around us
we feel America
falling apart
how strong
will the blue bruise of Boulder
stand
against El Paso and Weld’s red
in this fairly purple state
that, despite its
humbling mountains
still has its share
of selfish bastards
is still enamored of
cowboys and renegades
western liberty and
the exceptionalism
you find in open spaces
thank you, God, for
our Boulder-born governor
Grant, O Governor, that we lie down in peace,
and raise us up, our Governor, to life renewed.
Spread over us the shelter of Your peace.
Guide us with Your good counsel;
for Your Name’s sake, be our help.
Shield and shelter us
beneath the shadow of Your wings.
Defend us against enemies,
illness,
war,
famine
and sorrow.
Distance us from wrongdoing.
For You, Governor,
watch over us and deliver us.
For You, Governor,
are gracious and merciful.
Guard our going and coming,
to life and to peace evermore.
*The last stanza is an adaptation of the Hashkiveinu prayer.
crisp trim
usually I’m not one
for crisp edges
clear boundaries
things being one-or-the-other
yet I find
painting baseboards
surprisingly satisfying
I decide and dictate
you will be wall
you floor
you trim
now I make sharp lines
strict delineations
keep things separated
for once
unvoiced
my first walk through our neighborhood
and onto the trail
we awkwardly dodge each other
out of kindness
in the beginning
I say Good morning!
but soon realize
people don’t respond
afraid of my exhalation
responsible for their own
so I begin to silently wave
never good with faces
now I’ve lost the voices
from mouths that I might know
in faces I can’t see
we become random bodies
circling around the lake
and an unexpected cold fog sets in
missing mom
a friend asks
where is this young raw
I want my Mommy energy
coming from?
I rewind
when did I feel this way before?
third grade
I lost her for 5 weeks
while Grandy battled cancer
endured surgery
survived (just barely)
and all we could do
was talk on the phone
maybe this is one small part
of my crying need now
the current fear of death
wrapped up with the past threat
of losing my dear grandfather
and mom
in different ways all at once
the exhaustion
of trying to be strong and good and selfless
while also just wanting to be
hugged and held
told with certainty that things will be alright
that I wasn’t losing her forever
I remember the sudden understanding
of all she did for me
the terror that it could all be gone
and me undoubtedly unable
to handle things alone
the desperate missing
of her protective physical self
we all know
I was different when she returned:
kind caring compassionate
suffused with gratitude
I learned what I had taken for granted
in our family
where mother-love is not a given
she wrapped us in love beyond question
beyond hoping for
I still don’t want to do without it
and don’t yet know
how I’ll change this time
two masters
with a limited number of breaths
where shall I put my time:
making
or
finding homes for what I have made?
the simple answer is
both
the harder answer is
I will run out of air
before I can sleep
taking our leave
Moon Creek
you gave us shelter
safety
refuge
wonder
magic
beauty
stillness
respite
all we can give you
is thanks
Hohou, Neyei3eibeihii*
may your waters flow clear
without ceasing
for innumerable moons
*Thank you, Teacher in Arapaho/Hinónoʼeitíít)
some words for when there are no words
I wish I could take away this pain
the senselessness of your immeasurable loss
I wish the day could be done over
and life could go on
without the color drained out
I wish all your warm bodies
were home safe in bed
I wish you weren’t now being asked
to do the near-impossible:
to go on waking and walking
making breakfast and holding your children
convincing them that things will
one day be okay
whether or not you believe it
I wish you were bored with
the mundane certainty of tomorrow
rather than peering down
a dark tunnel of echoes
holding your racing heart
dreading what’s next
may rock strengthen you
water soothe you
air breathe for you
fire keep the light burning
in your chest and eyes
may all beings in your path
pause and reach deep into their pockets
to hand to you
some of their very own
extra fragments of hope
putting animals at ease
Three months of talking to our animal neighbors
has changed the way I am in the woods –
no more tiptoeing and blending in
I salute them each with a hearty hello.
Today after spying the mountain chickadee nest
and stopping to sit and watch
the babies poking their little striped noggins
right out of the aspen’s trunk,
the mother came close to
assess my intentions.
Hello, mountain chickadee!
I called and smiled
I’m resting here for a moment
and I’m taking out my binoculars
to get a better look at your handsome children,
if that’s okay.
You can keep feeding them, though.
You’re all safe.
Seemingly satisfied,
she cocked her head,
gave a little shake,
then flew off to keep at
the busy job of feeding her family.
Talking is a much better way
of setting at ease then freezing,
I’ve found.
Even if they don’t understand my words,
my tone and energy give them much more to go on
in determining friend or foe.
It’s like the skateboarders
down in the library parking garage
all by themselves after dark.
When I steeled myself
and got out of the car
they called a cheerful
Hello. How’s it going? –
all that was needed
to put me at ease.
a sweet offering
early July and the trees smell like matches
each cloud is a blessing of shade
and (less likely) possibly rain
today the first wild strawberries are ripe,
ruby packets of pleasure
even the smallest souls can reach –
how can such sweetness come
from sun rain rock air?
and what comparable kindness
might I possibly make
given all the energy poured into me
these 47 years?
