Tag: Louisville

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

the fire break holds

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the fire break holds

it’s like a dream:
the pink lines hold
and the land stays land
and the sky stays sky
with only a hotspot here and there

how long will we have
before the great spatula comes
and mixes things again?

poetry

NCAR Fire

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NCAR Fire

the land itself belches smoke
long columns stretch to sky

we haven’t seen them linked before
these realms of earth and air

no safe time now
no safe place

every day the possibility
that earth will stream to sky

poetry

unprepared for the future

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unprepared for the future

I had seen it on Twitter –
the slurry bomber painting hills I know red –
but that didn’t prepare me
for magenta slashes across our landscape
visible miles away

just one more sign
I’m unprepared for the scale
of the crisis we’re in

fire everywhere
everywhen
our relationship with the land
will never be the same

our children will not know
how it was to live with smokeless skies
before the hockey stick curve
made itself felt
in our choking air

poetry

NCAR Fire after Record Snow

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NCAR Fire after Record Snow

another day spent tasting the air for smoke
checking in on friends
body twitching with fight or flight

and this after months of snow
more snow than we could dare dream of
still never enough to damp down the threat of flame

it’s all year now
it’s every elevation
it’s a whole new level
of never-safe

poetry

firing up the activities

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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

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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

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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

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

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