May you never want for water

February 18, 2015 § Leave a comment

May you never want for water.

Before you begin to know thirst,
may there be a hand offering.

Before your doubt begins to steep into the darkest recesses of your heart, may the stars shine past the clouds to remind you of who you really are.

Should your eyes begin to cast downward, may the sound of hummingbird wings lift your eyes to the blue sky.

And, should these dark places be unavoidable, may you pass through them swiftly: dropping what you no longer need, and bringing the lessons with you back on the other side.

May the dreaming take you deep and spit you out again, that your eyes might strain in recognition of that bright orb calling you back.

May the springtime return to quicken your pulse, and fill you again with the sear of being alive.

May you feel the ache of the buds straining to bloom at the edges of your limbs.

May the light rain bejewel you with a glimmering as the chorus of frogs join you in the delight of return.

May you never want for water.



Letters to myself – wild geese and bearded iris

February 17, 2015 § Leave a comment

There. Out on the water…

Two geese, floating side-by-side.
Like that piece of China, held together eternally by the glaze and hardened earth.

Did you know they mate for life?

I may have left your side, you may have left mine. But I will never forget you, and the impressions that you have left. Some of those memories are so sweet, they fill my heart and bring water to my eyes. Some of them so bitter, they wake me in the night gasping for breath.

Dear one, in all of our fallibilities, our hearts have passed through each other’s hands. Like the potter’s clay, your fingerprints have gone through the fire to lay testimony…

I can only hope that I left you marks of joy amongst the others.

This spring will see my 45th year, an age ago from our time together. There are moments with you that used to be fresh and searing, now with rounded edges…

There is a part of me that still seeks you. Or, perhaps, what I think is you – my desire a pernicious blinder.

The comfort of your discomfort, the cage that was all too familiar. A dual purpose that we held – your desire to possess, my desire to be possessed.

So long ago… It seems that, indeed, there were parts of us that mated for life.

I’ve never laughed like that again
I’ve never cried like that again…

We never said those words, “till death do us part”…
Not out loud, anyway.

Once again, I will stand here at the water. I release that beautiful smile of yours: back to the lips where it belongs, back to the crinkly eyes where it should reside…

I remove another layer of the beautiful, gold-embossed thread that we laced around my heart. I beg you – receive the return of your own desire, and let the rest fall to the earth where it may mingle with the worms…

To bloom again, like a bearded iris in the spring.


Letters to myself – Merry meet again

February 14, 2015 § Leave a comment

There. I found you again.

Quick – meet me on the porch, and bring the chocolate. I’ll grab the bottle of scotch.

I swept the house today, cobwebs as thick as my arm came tumbling down and dented the linoleum.

I opened the back door to shoo it all out, and the stampede flattened the grass.

I’m sorry, it’s been a while – I’ve been inside again, rewriting my book. You know how it is when I am incubating…

I think I may have sprouted a new set of teeth. Do you like them? All bright and shiny, not dented with all the things I would not let myself say…

I met this fellow, you see, he showed me a door I didn’t know I had. Yep, didn’t even know it was there. Well, okay, maybe I had a clue…

The hairs from my thigh line the nest of a Golden Throated Lark
My tears have watered a purple Crocus
My giggle woke the frogs from their wintery sleep

Suddenly, my clothes are too tight and I want to run through the Salmonberry buds. I don’t care if my knees might get scratched, or that I might leave a stray hair snagged and twined in their thorns…

Right now I don’t care whether someone wants me or not – I’m on the verge of wanting myself.

Oh, beauty, where have you been? Did I leave you abandoned on the sidewalk where they tripped me and scattered my school books? Here, let me gather you back up.

Yes, I still care enough to believe that they might do the right thing. Even after all of that.

That magician – where did he come from? Like all good magicians, he denies his title and his talent. “I am just observant…” Yes, and that is half of making magic.

I wonder, will he let me show him a door he doesn’t know he has?

I will traipse through this long springtime remembering who I am. Perhaps there will be moments that I will forget again, but there is an indelible impression of a kiss on my thigh to bring me back to myself.

Remember child, you are precious. Yes, you will carry this burden for me: but I will elate you in your duties. You were born to do this.

In my heart, I see the wings of a vulture soaring into the blindness of that bright orb.

There is the Wolf, I would be the tender flesh that soothes the pelt. There is the Owl, I would be the eyes of the Hawk that greets in the twilight of dawn and dusk.

My goodness, we have so much to do. That looks like one last bite of chocolate, and a swig of scotch. There, off to bed with you. The sun will be rising soon enough…

These guests

February 2, 2015 § Leave a comment

I am hesitant to clear the coffee cup that you left on the front porch before you drove off to the airport.

There sits the story of the time when you lived in New York City. Young, and enthusiastic… wearing short shorts and combat boots for your interview at the artsy café where you rousted the junkies from the bathrooms.

The overflowing ashtray reverberates with stories of Peru, Lakota Sundances, your time with that performance troupe, the stories of your mother…

The little case of earplugs left behind on the pillow bear testimony to your sleepless night – we drank way too much coffee, and stayed up way too late.

I had to look around to find my calendar, where it was carefully placed out of the way – you had cleared the table in anticipation of the hours that we would sit there.

Every plate and dish I own sit in the dish rack, clean. I was so grateful that every dish I made was received with the sound of pleased, full mouths. My mother taught me that this was the best expression of love… I can only hope that my efforts in the kitchen could surpass adequacy in the face of how much I adore you.

You folded back the blankets, and carefully made your bed before you left. I won’t be able to bring myself to pack everything away for a couple of days…

I lay on the couch eating the last of the smoked salmon you brought, my skin still reverberating from your hands.

This house is quiet, now, but my ears and heart are full. This silence envelops me like a blanket made of laughter…

How I ever got so lucky to have you, all of you, in my life is a bit beyond me. Perhaps there will come a day when I can understand that I deserve such grace and beauty in my home. But I hope I never stop being in awe of how lucky I am…

Where Am I?

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