poetry

The View from Bear Peak

The View from Bear Peak

we climb Bear Peak
and take in the beige haze
the magenta slurry line
the brown and black trees
of the NCAR Fire’s modest burn
and the forest-green line
where the grass fire is regrowing

we see a plume of smoke
out toward Lagerman perhaps
and look toward Lyons
to be sure that fire’s out

our puppy swims
in the Cragmoor stock pond
already green in April
and later that afternoon
when he vomits three times
we worry about blue green algae,
which kills dogs within hours

no one we’ve known
has lived this way
not knowing what to expect
from the earth or the sky
this wariness toward the land
and the toxins all around

disorienting, exhausting, disheartening
disconnection mounts
and fear moves in

so much that once was a balm
becomes another source of dis-ease

poetry

missed beat

missed beat

we have been so restrained
so quiet and solitary
conscientious and clean

that walking into the high school
with open faces feels like a dare
like living wild

and when the band begins bouncing to the beat
striking their drums and marimbas
with the pent-up energy we’ve all kept tamped down

and – even crazier – we all start emptying our lungs
with long loud indoor cheers
for everything –
the proficient kids
our survival
the back-tingling joy of having hope for a moment
the crash of noise we can finally sink our fear inside

we sense we’ve arrived
at a new kind of fearlessness

for all these reasons
we salute you, Warriors –
you’ve put a beat
back in our chests

poetry

unbreaking the eggs

unbreaking the eggs

so many broken eggs these days
albumin streaming out
leaving yolk to float unsheathed

inside we don’t find paradise
no pastoral landscape humming along
no, it’s despair, powerlessness, resignation

I don’t know how to uncrook the hockey stick
how to bring George Floyd back to breath
how to put the virus back in the bat
how to unspark the fire that swallowed the homes

but it’s like the starfish
shard by shard of fragile shell
I place in my palm
doing something
I trust
to help

poetry

Remedy: AcuDetox Meets “Self-Compassion” by James Crews

Remedy: AcuDetox Meets “Self-Compassion” by James Crews

hands push hands, push
stuck energy out

clearing the system
the way dogs shake:

discharging arousal
preventing overwhelm

needles probe
meridians

curved cartilage may link
memory to muscle to panic

arranging the sharps just so
may too conduct chaos away

put your hand on your heart and say
oh honey

put your hand on another’s and
push for your lives

lay still
while some kind soul

sticks pins in your pinnae
to clear the memories –

we’ll try anything to move
our resting state to restful

poetry

my son has no taste for paintball

my son has no taste for paintball

My son sheds his year-round shorts and short-sleeved tee
for long pants and long sleeves,
what he’s been told to wear
to lessen the sting of inevitable impacts.
Hood up, he looks the stereotypical hoodlum,
even further from his usual self.

At the end of the party my teacher husband texts
we’re never hosting something like this.
I picture the boys covered in paint,
ask if his sneakers are ruined.
No, they’re fine
he writes
but it’s a bunch of kids
in full military tactical gear
shooting at each other.

too real
too raw

He comes home
all in one piece on the outside;
inside, rattled, by more than
the way the bullets grazed skulls,
more than the sinking feeling
of pulling a trigger for the very first time.

These boys already know too much real life –
all the losses that can’t be laughed at,
the way things get so serious so fast:
fire, flood, shooting, plague.

Good times are too hard to come by
to be squandered on
taking each other out.

poetry

miracle

miracle

my mother sits with me
at my table
making plans
a year away

every bit of this scene
a miracle
I wouldn’t dare dream
one year ago

poetry

Mayan Flower Healing Ceremony

Mayan Flower Healing Ceremony

Humans being human
are usually like The Breakfast Club:
we see each other’s humanity.

At the flower ceremony
we take turns speaking:
how hard the last two years have been,
how lost we’ve felt from losing the people we love.
We grieve alone, jointly.

Maya puts us on a cloud
and invokes our ancestors,
and, surprisingly,
they show up for us.

All the people from my bedtime prayer
gather in a way they never did in life
and, smiling,
(while tears streak my surprised face)
they say, over and over,
you know how to do it
and it could be anything.

All evening I’m buoyed by new confidence,
done with second-guessing,
sure about what to do,
whatever comes up.

Oh my ancestors,
for all the years I’ve known
how to say your names,
I never thought you’d say mine again.

Tonight I’m going to look for you
on that cloud once more,
now I know how to do it.

poetry

firing up the activities

firing up the activities

the first night back
and I’ve traded sleep for doing

two states and one photo today:
that’s how it goes

we come into service
and the calendar balloons with commitments –

easing back into pre-pandemic busyness
we’ve less taste for it now

like lobsters who got a reprieve
we know the difference between tepid and roiling

today we saw tracks in sand
and the rest was a blur

poetry

internal spring arrives

internal spring arrives

another blue sky day
not stuck in sand
not sickened or burned
all of us able to marvel
at Bryce’s delicate turrets
white snow green pines peach spires
grey caprock and blazing blue

we wend our way decision by decision
to Swasey’s Beach:
temps in the 70’s
finally in Chacos
the Green River a grey roar
our feet and dog crusted with silvered sand
finishing Wintering
beer in hand by campfire light

it’s finally spring on our internal calendars
we have turned the year
as Katherine May says
there’s a palpable end to dormancy
we feel our seedcoats split

poetry

House Rock Valley Sunset

House Rock Valley Sunset

the last rays of sun fire the sky
and one son announces
he has a headache
and a runny nose

I help casually
without saying what I’m thinking:
is this our last pre-Covid-life sunset
and, if so,
will it take someone we love down

or

is this our last pre-Covid-life sunset
and, if so,
will it wash over us in an easy wave –
a bit of headache here
a scratchy throat there

will it leave us shaking our heads
at our years of precautions
friendships lost for nothing
so much restraint for so little cause

or at our reckless last week
unmasked with the masses
at the Grand Canyon
ears filled with other languages
noses filled with who knows what

but maybe
it’s just our last Arizona sunset til next year
unremarkable except for its normalcy
unworthy of this account