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
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.