“The Desert has many teachings” – Mechthild of Magdeburg
Tell me crow
your story
When you spread
your wings
I take refuge
in shadow
Wind dispel
in gusts
scatter like dust
my thoughts
leave only sand
beneath
Mesquite mother
water wise
transmute rain
into shelter
Teach arms to
touch sky
A patchwork quilt gifted from her mother on the birth of her daughter
arrived in the mail, the box wrapped in a paper bag much the way her
mother covered school books years ago. The quilt was handstitched with
fabric gleaned from a dressmaking factory’s dumpster located behind her
mother’s workplace. Curiously, the quilt was unfinished as she carefully
unfolded it, there was no backing, it was only the quilt top. A handwritten
note was attached to the fabric, “For the baby. You can finish it.”
She actually loved the quilt top with its colorful fabric and variety of designs,
but she never understood why her mother did not complete it. Unfinished work
in progress, half a painting on a canvas, a knitted sweater with one arm missing,
an empty plate at the dinner table. She never asked her mother about it, much
like her hesitation to ask about other things in their strained relationship, a
distance geographically enhanced. The quilt top hung over the back of an old
chair pushed into a corner. Whenever she noticed it she thought of her new
baby and no time to sew. No money to purchase batting and fabric for the back.
No desire to finish it. No room in her heart to even think about it. One day
when the baby was sleeping, she noticed the sun powering through the
window reflecting sparkle on the blocks of fabric. She picked it up and
wrapped it around her shoulders, an embrace from the past, a hint of
lavender sachet was released.
Tears rolled down her face,
as the snow melts down the mountainside
and the rain falls from heaven.
Oh, we’ve got the table reserved
1:30, you know?
Well, that works out
It’s the first time
in all these months
we’ve seen someone else use it
Did you have a nice picnic?
We sure did
Hope you do, too
The depths of the longing I feel for you
Are so immense and grand
That my heart swells in my chest
Preventing oxygen to filter through my body
Creating a veiled delusion
That this was ever meant to be
But in those depths
I also feel the immensity
Of how I know I can go on without you
How you do not long for me
With as much heat or desire
As I do for you
How much that pains me
To know you do not desire me
As I am
Or who I will maybe become?
My heart deflates
My eyes swell with held back tears
I can not look at you in your reddened eyes
Because my heart will shatter
Not because I am worried of how
You will receive me
But at knowing I am right
But also, at knowing
I will be okay
As much as I hoped this be
The greatest love story of my life
I know it is not
Though it hurts, I knew this reality
Long before it occurred
may all beings realize happiness
as we walk this path together
in gratitude of others who do not share my views:
to impose my views on others brings suffering
no matter the form
(force, coercion, etc.)
simply to share my views
in respect of others who are perceived as different
honor their chosen beliefs
esteem their decisions
assist others to acknowledge, let go, and transform
closed-mindedness
through engaged communication
in gratitude of others who do not share my views
you help me discern my own
you teach me in your own way
I’m in the town where you used to live,
walking past all the places you showed me on the map.
You’ll never get to show me what they are like.
You didn’t pass away but it feels like you did.
Maybe I’m still holding on to life with you.
I wish you could have been here with me, and I wish I didn’t have to leave.
I needed more than you could offer, and I wonder if I’ll ever stop missing you.
I pushed my subconscious up a hole in the floor
The room above is dark, I pushed the darkness away and stretched out to get a sense of the space
A child is revealed in the darkness, alone and tears streaming down their face
‘You don’t have to carry your burdens alone son,’ I tried to say, but nothing came
He was alone as I was, both of us powerless
I could feel his pain, a fiery rage burning out of control
Unable to help, unable to do anything to ease his pain, I began to feel myself being pulled through the hole in the floor
He suffers as I do, but he has been forced to walk alone.
The darkness begins to return, I can feel myself slipping back into the voided maw of sorrow.
I’ll be back, I won’t give up on you my son…
fuzzy bumble knot you did not
give fair warning
looping down all twee-ly
into a violent beeline to a hip
& zip over to a thigh–
the burn delayed a split-second
before I could flap my hat wildly
& miss cursing–
you bobbing bobbling to the roof
you diving driving at me again–
an angry stripey pompom
clinging to my watchband
slipping your stinger into my wrist
what did I do to deserve this indiscriminate stinging–
these jabs into my legs & wrist–
this holy trinity of needling throb & itch–
when I was only standing on my porch
is this payback for
the thwacks of a cheap badminton racket
twanging woodbees from a porch long-ago
or your venomous benediction:
forgo a watch &
forget steps & time–
revert to reflexive wildness–
swell & scratch & cuss
✨Soul Mirror✨
I rise with the morning,
still heavy with sleep from the night before.
Birdsong greets the world
a soft hymn that quiets the ache,
older than the mountain view from my stoop.
I open the cupboard,
searching for a mug
to fill with the sweet decadence of something hot.
The warmth seeps in,
soothing what’s sore.
I choose my mug like I choose myself-
chipped, perhaps,
faded at the edges.
Whole and brand new.
Old and questionable.
Tacky, sometimes.
In these small, strange moments
realization strikes,
and my old poet’s heart beats quicker.
Inspiration lives here,
in the quiet,
in the choosing,
in the sip.
In every breath I finally remember to take.
