Tag: family

poetry

Mayan Flower Healing Ceremony

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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

unbalanced on the equinox

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unbalanced on the equinox

the black campground studded by flames
like my inner landscape
raging from the unkindness one son inflicts on the other
and my inability to create peace
in our little truck
in our extended family
in our town

no it seems we all want to tear each other apart
enjoy that crestfallen look on the other’s face
when we betray them with disdain
just like me
unable to see the 21-month-old I made cry to sleep
his bucket never able to be filled since
the payoff of sleep so not worth the damage done
sleep I reject every night now anyway
I’ve no idea how to make it better
only know to limit the pain I myself inflict

unbalanced today
I lashed out and liked it
calling him out on his selfishness
not caring that each word I spat would undoubtedly
have the opposite effect
driving stake after stake between us
with each word I said

there is a dark energy
in our world of Schaafs
we take
and there’s never enough
how can I keep this from going out in the world
how can I possibly shift it
we keep repeating the mistakes of the past
our humanity diminished each go around

the Dalai Lama says
be kind whenever possible
it is always possible
but I don’t know how to respond kindly to unkindness
in a way that won’t lead to more

I don’t know how to read two books at once
sometimes I doubt I have enough love to give
sometimes the relief of peace seems as elusive
as drinking from the shimmer
of the highway’s mirage

poetry

fleeing on foot

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Photo by Helen H. Richardson, The Denver Post

fleeing on foot

what still haunts Grace
is the families fleeing on foot
holding hands

the little children with their flimsy school backpacks
meant for holding little more than a snack
now carrying all that they might come out with

and more than that –
driving past them without stopping –
having no room, no seats

being one more in the long line of cars
passing up those without

poetry

burning bridges

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burning bridges

you’d never give up on anyone
she says
and she’s right –
why would I?

we talk an hour
and the only useful thing I say
is her lucky number

but it’s enough
it adds up to family
as meager as it’s always been
as hungry as it’s always left me

poetry

Extroverts

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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

a hike together after isolating

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a hike together after isolating

the meadowlark singing
from the very top branch
of a ponderosa pine
melted summer into song
spilled in golden ribbons
across the park
and into our grey hearts
healing the hurt
of our long aloneness
warming our cautious bones

poetry

merging bubbles

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merging bubbles

I don’t know
how to merge
one small round bubble
with another rainbow-streaked sphere
in a way that expands us all
instead of ending in
an abrupt
pop

poetry

a striking truth re mothering boys

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a striking truth re mothering boys

after 12 years of mothering boys
I still don’t quite get it

we leave for a walk and I ask them
to leave their PVC pipes behind

let’s not whack things
let’s not be violent
let’s be quiet
and look for animals

they grumble, but do it for me
and within minutes they’re clutching
big brown blocks of icy snow
smashing them against each other

after one starts crying
I try again
let’s not beat on each other
let’s just walk
and see the world

the crying one protests,
requesting more abuse,
but we continue plodding along

until they both spy a mullein
at the same time –
a ramrod-straight perfect sword –
they both fall upon it at once

after much wrestling and wresting
they strike a deal
as to who can whack with it

I still have not learned
how much they need
to feel their own bodies
through the vibrations
of something else striking them

how their muscles need to be told
where they are in space
how they need to be sure
they exist right now
with the solid reassurance
only a good thwack will give

poetry

blind judging

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blind judging

how to tell the story
without the names,
{my name included}?

first I make all the names
into Xs
capital crosses
the paper riddled with treasure marks
{the editor says
it’s too ex-perimental}

next I try saying
trust me
it’s a worthwhile story
but meaningless without the names
{but it’s not in an editor’s nature
to trust}

next I make the names
into big black bars
highlight each soul in black
to make it disappear
the way corrupt governments do
{now they look more like names/bodies
but maybe it’s too transparent –
you could still calculate the characters
if you were hell-bent
on unmasking the dead}

finally I go to sleep
letting the problem work itself out
in dream
{trusting my summoned ancestors
to reveal a next step
that preserves their dignity
alongside my anonymity –

they do}

poetry

saying no to family

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saying no to family

we’ll come up and see you
they say with easy smiles

and we say nothing
in these days
when the whole world has gotten
as small as our front door
and good intentions mean nothing
with death on everyone’s hands

we’ll see
we finally say
(meaning no)

see you soon!
they reply
not understanding the difference
between family and household
or how they’re asking us
to put their lives in our hands