Monday, May 18, 2015

in spring







Speculations

In this open field
we uncover the massive
bones of a moose

a shoulder blade like a
giant tropical fish
sullen and sucked of

color and light,
tendons and ligaments
still motion sinews

a graveyard, a harvest,
the bison and their curls
so coarse and alive, the

river otter and his sunset
show plus the trumpeter swans
are back, all grace and game on

showstoppers indeed, though
I prefer the heron and the
sandhill, their subtle and sultry ways

or the robin, rising from his round belly
guileless, feckless,
and we just want to eat and romp and

slow dance sweetly amongst
the heavy branches, the lilacs
so sagacious, the tiny rabbit two-step

listen to the grouse
and her wild rhythms
listen to the coyote

his tracks so smooth
like sweet wind
like the mama sow

and her cubs that
course down the trail
their weight and warm,

golden fur, thick honey
and taffeta sheen while the
bald eagle, I swear, grazes my

head,  tells me
I better look up, check the divine,
everyone seems to be calling at once.

Monday, April 20, 2015

spring spontanaity

There are times when you will do anything
to see the people you need to see
to feel the warmth of the sun
or cool of the ocean

trepidation scuttles by
says, perhaps this is insane,
forty hours in a car, one week

but living from your true center
the two of you decide your family
can hack it

you set off
over snowy mountain passes
through Mormon peaks

open fields, desert tunnels,
the red canyon walls turn to
yucca and Joshua trees and

suddenly, sprouting up from the
earth are bright lights
a pyramid, a famous French tower

it's so weird and so fake
says Eliana as we drive through Vegas
almost there, I think, almost there

we know we're close when the cars slow
Saturday traffic and Jeff keeps checking the
surf, his determination unfettered

until, somehow, we're standing on sand
the children peel off layers, strip to swimsuits
race to the open water

and I can't really believe we've done it
can barely remember the bad Denny's breakfast
or sleeping in a Utah field but instead

see my family, the warmth of my sister's home
the love that is authentic connection
a surprise, a gift, solid and true

we can do it!  we can get in the car and drive
to my family.  we can spend lazy days
without time or schedules or to-do's

we can scamper through giant canyons
watch our children find new rocks to climb
fall in love all over again

at this pulsing, heart center we have created
the rules only we can make






















Sunday, March 22, 2015

a season

Suddenly we're in spring.  Suddenly I realize that I haven't spent a whole lot of time looking back, haven't been feeling my usual reflective self.  I've been pulsing forward, each step, each sunset, each day full and splendid and exhausting and challenging all in one bright, sunshiny package.  It rained on Saturday and it was the kind of day I needed.  It forced us to stay in, to take it down a notch, to snuffle in bed and chill the heck out.  Today's sunshine had me back at it enough, in fact, that I actually want to write a few things down.  When I think of this winter, I think of tremendous friendships.  And amazing skies.  I think of unusually sunny February and March days, adventures outside with my sweet family.  I think of this earth and this breath and this energy that is so full of love and light. 














Monday, March 9, 2015



 The Cord

The back of his neck is soft leather
eucalyptus branch
soothed muscle
negative space
sacred space
holy land.

With two fingers I move
upward across soft fields of
golden hay,
a California sunset.

The sun dips and flares
dips and flares
and we sit in silence.
There is no one else in this world.

My mama is far away.
My land is far away.
This perch on rock,
this full bottle.

Greetings, my name is Empty.
My name is Still.

When sacred spaces wake
belly between knees
 the edge of a tattered sofa
ordinary Monday  
senses open one and then
all at once

you are a quake in my system
a tsunami that tears through my tiny town
shoulders wide
open me again and again
a million little shards of glass
a million little lifetimes
there are bed posts
wooden and carved
spirals and flowers and seashells and sand
rain
so much rain
the ocean and her tendency towards tides
 her relentless ways
her insistence on always being right
the red flurry, landscape, ancient petroglyphs
form between us
the vast and open skies
scent of lilac from frozen ground
so sweet and new
just like you.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

sunshine can spoil a girl



Sunshine can spoil a girl.  And then she's gone and it's another gray, damp, full February day.  Work is full, housework even more so and she can tell you the exact contents of her fridge in an attempt to use every last bit of food before she has to go to the store again.  She negotiates with her children, soaks lentils, pulls out the rice cooker again, frozen chicken thighs, again.  Soon it's almost eight and the children still have to finish their bath, brush their teeth, read their books.  The night feels like a long, slow loop, every night she's a bit more exhausted than the last. 

Perhaps it's more of a challenge when her sister, Sunshine, is back in the land of swaying palms, of eternal seventies, far, far away, again.  The winterless, dry lands, the mama and papa lands, lands of oceans and spices and rosemary always in bloom, always free.  Here she spends another four ninety nine, checks to see where this little package was birthed.  California, indeed. 

She's a dweller of this mountain valley now, such a fixture, sweet Jumbo a guiding light.  But when there's Sunshine and her Mini, their dance moves and carefree smiles, their go-with-the-flow and ridiculous cases of the giggles, it's harder to embrace the long, dark days, the frozen ground and colorless views.  It's a come down, after all that sun, another shift in perspective.

For now, she holds on to Sunshine's voice and photos, the plans they've schemed late night.  She holds on to the way her girl is so patient with her little cousin, the way her boy was all fierce possession and staunch beliefs.  She holds on to Mini's renditions of show tunes, her cadence and ridiculous rhythm.  She holds on to husband home soon, after so many late nights, so many dinners and clean-ups alone.  Maybe that's what this is all about.  Embracing how isolating it can all be, the heavy mist and spoiled counters and family far, far away. 






Tuesday, January 27, 2015

january soak in

 

January is melting before us.  Yesterday found 50 degrees and melted snow.  Solomon said the hills looked like the African Savannah.  He says all sorts of things like this these days.

We've had an extra dose of q.t. the past few days as he's been out with the flu.  It's silly the little routines that we get into.  Or how I watch my energy/creativity/productivity level fluctuate from day to day without factoring work into the equation.  I feel a bit like we're on our own little planet.  A planet of cough syrups and snot rags, strange conversations and random cooking projects.  I'd be a funny little homemaker if this was my full time gig. 

Because he's sick, he hasn't been able to have his normal physical contact with his sister.  My favorite part about this is the air hugs that they give each other.  They are really cool. 

It's always fun to upload pictures when you live in Montana.  You can see how quickly the weather shifts and the landscape right along with it.  While I do appreciate the hunkering down of snow, I have to say I really appreciate the energy that the sunshine brings. 

On Thursday sissy and Maz arrive.  I'm kinda beside myself with excitement.  Mazzy really wants to build a snowman.  We shall see if we can still scrape some white stuff together.