Posts for June 27, 2026 (page 3)

sweet scribes in a sociable soil
fulsome lovers of full summer sun
hearty balm to faithful fond hearts
astringent to our advancing age

fulsome lovers of full summer sun
can be piquant in peppery recipes
astringent to our advancing age
too many might cause a belly ache

can be piquant in peppery recipes
wild varieties both tart and sweet
too many might cause a belly ache
gracious cheer for wondrous years

wild varieties both tart and sweet
hearty balm to faithful fond hearts
gracious cheer for wondrous years
sweet scribes in a sociable soil

(from my thesis collection: Warriors, Mothers, and Queens)

Alliances outweighed
            a raised shoulder,
            a limp,
            an unruly spine.
Two children trembled before a bishop.
Neither was of age,

neither desired the other.
A bitter spouse makes a poor bedfellow,
and as he ascended the royal ladder,
he found means to shed a twisted wife.
Thought a title and riches would appease —
how little he knew.  

No longer queen, she found refuge
with her goddess, founded an order for prayer.        

In my twenties, I fell in love with someone who skied,
so I learned to ski.

Fear of heights beginning
somewhere around
the third rung
of a ladder
notwithstanding.

The first chairlift felt like an out-of-body spiritual awakening.
A narrow seat suspended by a cable.
Nothing beneath my feet
except a mountain patiently
getting further
and further away.

Suddenly, I couldn’t hear.

I couldn’t feel my legs.

Then
going down the mountain.

Seeing the smile
on his face

and feeling
the one
on mine.

And winter repeated itself.

Ride after ride.

Eventually, I didn’t even notice the ground
dropping away.

Exposure therapy
begins
with a simple idea.

The nervous system can learn.
Not by avoiding what it fears,
but by surviving it
again and again.

I remember thinking
I had overcome my fear of heights.

It turns out fear is less like a disease
than a language.

You can stop speaking it for years,
then one day,
without warning,
discover you’re still fluent.

Now my daughter loves the rides at Coney Island.

The higher.

The faster.

The louder.

The better.

She points toward the sky with complete confidence.

Can we ride
that one?

Please?

I look up
and calculate structural integrity,
wind speed,
bolt fatigue,
the probability
of becoming a
cautionary news story.

She sees an adventure.

I see gravity
quietly maintaining
its perfect record.

I climb aboard another machine
designed to suspend human beings
well above their better judgment.

The safety bar clicks into place.
My body remembers
the chairlift.
The ride begins.

My daughter throws both arms into the air.
I grip the bar
with the concentration of someone
who believes
grip strength
influences
structural integrity.

Halfway through,

I realize
the fear hasn’t disappeared.

It has simply
been outranked.

Once,
I climbed because I was in love.

Now,
I climb because I am her mother.

Different love.

The same willingness
to let another person
rearrange the boundaries
of what my body believes
it can survive.

Love,
it turns out,
has never asked me
to become fearless.

Only
to keep getting on.

A young wren is on the porch.
Chirping and tweeting as he hops around
Looking for seeds, or maybe to get dry.
My cat crouches for attack.
POW!!
Cat crashes into storm door.
Sadly, no film at eleven.

You sang the song of my steps
         then taught me the tune,

on my own now
          to learn
                   the words for this gift

 Retreat to 
    the balm of living spaces, lush from summer rain
    the mesmerizing of wings soaring overhead
    the klatch of tale and rhyme lovers reclaiming lost time
    the connection created when imaginations align   

                                                                                Retreat from
    the noise of our existence, full yet flooded
    the undone tasks and toils of our days
    the weight of holding happiness for all
    the fear of failure in our own eyes

When two or more are gathered…magic happens

You were at that golden age,
perched between infancy and all that adulthood,
before the world stopped resetting every night
when you closed your eyes and drifted away,
opening them to a new world like a new day.
You loved to pull my braids
and we would throw our arms around each other
and around the neck of the dog who guarded our gates.
I did not understand that you were not my job. 
Like our dog and his drooling jowls
I stood between you and danger. 
But you were fearless,
falling down mountain sides
and climbing up the highest trees,
and there was nothing I could do
and nothing ever stopped you
and I couldn’t follow. 
All my fear I molded into my own armor.
And I am safe
and you are spectacular.

What is worse, to look out 

I sit with intention,
quiet my mind, close my eyes,
and wish for fractured light
to splinter the grey.

Instead, Hilma af Klint’s abstract
prisms appear. The colors asked for—
but not what I sought to find
until I open my eyes and look

to the gardens below:
the wind rustles the flowers
into an Isadora dance.
Finally, I dance too.

The silver-struck
   Piano plays
A lonely melody
   As it tries
To capture
   The Moon’s
Very first,
   First Quarter,    
Partial-pale song,
   Filling midnight air—
But empty space
   Breaks Piano’s heart
It’s alone
   Up there—
But so, too,
   Is Piano.
It cannot capture
   the song in
the lonely, quiet dark

brave Trumpet
  then plays in turn
    calling out into
       that lonely, quiet dark
          cutting through
           that empty space
            in a brazen golden arc
             heroic in its mission
             to befriend somber Piano
             knowing that they’re both
            alone in a tuneless world
           then Trumpet stops
         then listens to the
       unyielding abyss
    for any signs
of connection

Piano stirs
   From its
Mournful solitude
    And returns
The gesture
    That there
Is hope

Trumpet 
   cries out
     with eternal
      excitement
      and vibrates
     in tremendous,
   newfound
joy

Piano knows
   Just what
To say
   “In Friendship
We are mighty.”

Trumpet
   says,
     “in
      friendship
     i am—”

“No,
   No,”
Says
   Piano.
“In Friendship
    We are mighty.”

Trumpet
  Repeats,
    “in
     friendship
    we
  are
mighty!”

In    their
   Music they 
Have   learned
   To             work
Together, together
   Piano & Trumpet
Now                    play
   With         consoled,
Rekindled        hearts
   And                   with
A                           goal
   To                     sing
The               Moon’s
   Very             first,
First       quarter,
    Partial-pale, 
Silver song,
   As one
Voice