Sunday, September 27, 2009


she watched the words fall out of her head/and land on his chest as he lay in his bed/ she hoped they'd melt and slide off his skin/ she prayed they wouldn't make their way in/ to his heart.

To Rumi: I am tired of love poems.

I picked up
a book
of your love poems
this morning

I am tired of love poems

of wistful wishes
and languid longings
of fire
and flames
and passions
that burn

this world
that surrounds me
has made of love
a practical thing

to be contained
and understood
through methods
and formulas
and surveys
and psychology

I am tired of the fight
my half protected heart
reaching out to those
in full heart armor

There is no field of ecstasy today, Rumi.

I am tired of love poems.

Monday, August 17, 2009

crack me open

crack me open

take from me
each ray of light that shines its way through

each succulent yes,
divine more, please

this shining bursting breaking
is nothing if it stays in me, merely
nothing if you cannot taste it, touch it, see and know.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

When the seeds arrive in the mail,

I will drive to your house

and leave them on the bench

next to your front door.

I will leave them to you,

to your care,

for without you,

I have no place to plant them.

The peas, well, they were just for me.

I wonder - will you still plant them?

But the beets were just for you,

so I hope you find a good sunny spot,

and set them in the ground.

There are many things I will miss you about you.

But I think, more than anything,

I will miss the things we planned but never got the chance to do.

Like planting peas and beets, and watching them grow.

Friday, April 10, 2009


Alms to the green of the shoot

So new, so bright, so tenacious

Twining through

Ancient crusty earth

So compelled by surface

So desiring of depths

Sinuating, undulating, into me coming

Loosening holds of maddening habit

Ah, surrender now

Floating, falling, blessing each passing.

Monday, March 16, 2009

A Statement of Purpose

Who are you?

Human. Flesh and blood and bone. Heart and soul and mind. Running, leaping, laboring, dancing, resting, beating, bleeding, thinking, praying, dreaming, becoming.

Who are you?

Woman. Lover of men and women and children and all of creation. Giving, taking, birthing, dying, holding, pushing, receiving, losing, loving, leaving, coming.

Who are you?

Sight. Lens and nerve and impulse and shadow and light. Vision and perception and eyes that see and see and see. Eyes that will no longer avert their gaze from racism, sexism, hatred, indifference, inequity, despair, pain, violence, poverty, abuse, injustice.

Who are you?

Voice. Throat and larynx and vibration and buzz. Resonance and dissonance and pulsing waves of sound. Sound that will dare to name what is seen. Words that will work to bring light into darkness. Voice that will risk judgment to become part of the solution.

Who are you?

Human. Woman. Sight. Voice.

This I am. This I have. This I must give to all that I love. With this I must make purpose. With pieces and fragments, songs and stories, hope and risk, I must become the path I seek.

Friday, March 6, 2009


Eating Raisin Bran straight from the box: drinking Super Dieter's Tea: reading poem after poem on the Internet: I find 32 clues to the life I’d like with you: and write this list of hope and risk:
  1. Garden gates
  2. Raking leaves
  3. My clothes in your closet
  4. Long nights
  5. Fights
  6. Eggs in the morning
  7. Forgiveness
  8. Oral sex
  9. Bathtubs
  10. Watermelon
  11. Laundry stains
  12. Pounding of a heartbeat in my ear – is it yours or mine?
  13. Old furniture
  14. Dirty knees
  15. A little help unzipping
  16. Horizons
  17. Flaps of wing
  18. Apples and peaches
  19. Curling up like commas
  20. Shadows
  21. Compost piles
  22. Sunlight
  23. Supper on the stove
  24. Mending
  25. Beautiful music
  26. Trees in the yard
  27. The smell of shirts and sheets and skin
  28. Fingertips
  29. The passage of time
  30. Chickens
  31. Sipping wine
  32. Saving grace