Tag: gratitude

poetry

Trees & Eggs

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Trees & Eggs

finally I give away something we don’t use
to someone who doesn’t have it:
plastic Easter eggs
I haven’t filled in years –
our sun reducing the contents to chocolate puddles
before the cousins could even assemble
no, all we do now is hide the hard-boileds

today we tint the thin white shells
in spring shades
ready to disappear them into the waking-up grass
we save the chocolate for the basket
safe in the shaded confines of our roofed house
high on a table safe from dogs’ jaws

today I start reading Nine Ways to Charm a Dryad
at the cabin and am overcome –
it’s been so long since I lived in forest –
(36 years) –
so long I hadn’t guessed we’d reunite

all I can say’s
thank you God for all these blessings

all I can do is
bless myself with spring water
shake the grandfather tree’s branch
open my heart
and let the forest take up residence
in that long-vacant cavity

poetry

Mather Campground Blessings

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Mather Campground Blessings

all these little red fires
dotting the campground
sending smoke and heat and resin
into the night sky

all these cold white fiery points
glistening down from the black night
so many suns in our far-flung galaxy
a sea of milky possibilities

I’m seized by the profound joy of being here
on a by-and-large hospitable
(even in these uncertain disaster-prone days)
planet

thank you combustion
radiation
equilibrium
fire and night

poetry

Feeling Grateful

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Feeling Grateful

at the spring band concert
it’s not like fall

yes, we are the same people
lined up in the same hallway
to watch the same kids
play the same instruments
in the same black and white clothes
but we’re not the same

the talk is of the fire
where were you?
how are you?
where are you living now?
and the undercurrent in every conversation is
I’m so glad you’re still alive
your kid is still alive
we’re still alive

not all the instruments are the same
not all the black and white clothes made it
but we all did
we’re all still alive and here to listen
to the sixth graders labor through Lean on Me
and the Jazz Band absolutely kill it
playing Feeling Good

poetry

Marshall Fire

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My sister took this photo from her home on LaFarge Avenue shortly before evacuating.

Marshall Fire

our latest calamity:
half the town burning down

I crawl into bed after watching it burn
and the blanket shoots sparks into my hands

oh fire and ice gods
winter and spring axes

let me recall how to press these palms
so they still manage to hold joy

let me find a way to still
admire a stray spark

poetry

taking our leave

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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)

poetry

pandemic

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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

wonders

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This is in response to a prompt from Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s webinar Nature as Inspiration and Transformation: An Intro to Nature Poetry: make a list of three questions you wonder about and could look up the answer to. Write a poem about these wonderings.

wonders

wondering where the shaggy black bear sleep
and whether I’ll come upon one this spring
laid in a heap of fur bone sinew
next to a boulder somewhere
his mat of fur the only thing marking him
as different from duff

wondering where the calypso orchids are waiting
held in the earth’s warm heart
and when they’ll stretch their soft pink throats skyward
and what the boys will say

wondering how it feels to dive
like a male broadtail
or sleep ten hours
like my beloved sons

wondering whether Roxy the fox
has a dry safe earth
with a quiet writhing of new life beside him (or her)
all awake

today I wondered where are the deer?
hours later they pronked across the trail before us;
a bit of magic reaffirming what I believe
about life the universe and everything:
it gives us what we need
when our arms and minds stay open

poetry

atypical migraine

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atypical migraine

each time
the brain storm strikes
I wonder
if I’ll ever be the same

each time
after it’s over
I retest my malfunctioning faculties:
once again
I can read
I can think
I can speak
I can feel my hand –
these are all
plenty to celebrate:
I’ve been spared
again

poetry

called home early

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called home early

our adventure cut short
no sloths or macaws
Temple of the Sun
Bosque Eterno de los Niños
Panamanian private island
really no March April May plans left
probably not even empty Seawall Beach in June
our one year off hacked by a third
down the drain
alongside a pile of cash
but
we regained a winter
and a neighborhood fox
the moon waxes right to left again
our boys learn how to stand on skis
our lessons in slowing down
have been taken to the extreme
I sit with Moon Creek every day
its news an antidote to mine
more importantly
our family knows we will not leave them
we’re as safe as Americans can be
we’re done debating how long to hold out
we still have our foursome to hug
and no one we love has died alone yet
there is never a good time
for terrible events
and just look what we packed
into those six short months
we were lucky to live so large

poetry

protectors

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protectors

heavy with the care of a short-lived creature
I enter the quiet home
of the great big trees
where all the sounds are softened

they tower over us draped in moss bunting
make us feel small in a good way
a toddler hiding behind her mama’s skirts

now old enough that their grey bark
has grown green
they saw so many cut down
a century ago

and yet here the survivors stand
still rooted
still patiently making shade and air for everyone
despite everything we might do