poetry

eclipse on a night with no moon

eclipse on a night with no moon

we scaled the peak to watch her rise
but found a bank of clouds
draped over the eastern foothills

chilled and sleepy
we descended home
sure we would see her on the way
but the sky stayed a blank pink
then blue then grey
marked by a star a moth a bat

we lit our sparklers instead
scrawled our hopes across
night’s blank page
signed ephemeral pledges in smoke
still she didn’t wink at us

after the boys surrendered to sleep
I set a timer to check on her
but the clouds had swung round to the south
and the only evidence that she was up
was the thin silver tracery
around each small cloud

maybe some nights
she doesn’t want to be seen
just wants to hide in her own corner of sky
and be nothing to nobody
just reflect on her time warmed by Sol’s rays
dream her own quiet icicle-mint dreams
not worry about those worrying about her
just slip away in the dark
no matter who might be wistfully watching

poetry

return to South Sudan

return to South Sudan

before returning to his village
he found a bookstore
and bought a big pile of books
for twenty bucks

but when he brought them out
the line stretched
all the way to disappointment

determined to turn no one away
he did the only thinkable thing –
sliced each paperback in half

as the mothers collected
these split works
they cried with thanks

for the little boy they never thought
would walk back into their lives
and the faraway stories of hope
he brought in his own hands

poetry

fireweed phenology

fireweed phenology

I don’t know
how two long ladders
of fireweed blossoms
could open all at once

I’m not sure
which is more alarming –
all that unfolding
in a single day

or the chance that yesterday
I failed to notice
the buds’ seams had begun to split
spilling all that fuchsia
into July sun

poetry

touch-up painting

touch-up painting

it’s so easy
to let the years go by
without registering
the little scuffs and dings
the chinks in the smooth clean surfaces
carelessness’s scars

it doesn’t take long
to bring attention and a clean brush
to see and smooth the rough patches
to touch the scarred bits with
soft gentle strokes
until the wall glows whole again
and we know the joy
of putting things right

poetry

homecoming

homecoming

our house surrendered
we resume possession
of our regular lives
still irregular
as our neighbors friends family
stand at a distance
out on the sidewalk
masked and awkward
but it is still something
to see their bodies
through our open door
still comforting
to breathe our old house’s
singular smell –
antique timber, dust, sunshine, memory
as the day drifts down
the house welcomes us
in its own way
casting rainbows on the wall
from stained glass prisms
granting us a place to be at ease
at home again

poetry

nests revealed

nests revealed

while waiting patiently
for the hairy woodpecker mother
to bring the very large flying bug
to her babies
two more nests reveal themselves:
a flicker flies straight to an aspen
where a branch becomes a hole
and while watching him
a mountain chickadee is
swallowed by trunk

when we’re silent and still
not rushing
the world brings us into
her inner circle

poetry

pandemic

pandemic

when the threat is everywhere
to everyone
at once

worrying that anyone you know
may die
at any time

knowing there’s nothing you can do
but withdraw from all those
you may soon lose

remembering to stop and feel
sun on your skin
sometimes

and give thanks that for now
you still smell roses
still taste wine

poetry

Extroverts

Extroverts

we puzzle for a moment
running down the
extended-family checklist

there has to be one
doesn’t there?

we sit together in silence
thinking

poetry

found mission

found mission

from a letter mailed 21 July 1992:

I want to teach people
without having a lesson plan & rows of desks.
I want to be outside
& get dirty
& write
& smell salt air
& help the environment.

poetry

after the trifecta

after the trifecta

after all these days weeks months years
we still genuinely like each other
(harder to achieve than loving)

for this and all the other joys
that have come along with
these three main lights in my life
may I always feel grateful and blessed
even in dark hours
mine or theirs or ours

you’d never give up on me
he says
no, I wouldn’t
I agree
may it always be so

even when the road’s nearly washed out
and the lightning’s going sideways
and the rain’s a perpendicular blur
there’s always the distinct possibility
we’re headed straight toward rainbow