Taxi!
I’ll gladly shuttle
you to your heart’s desire, just —
Don’t forget to tip
A list of people I texted a selfie to while waiting for a ride to my first Pride:
my spouse, my long distance partner, my old boss, my best friend and mentor, my pen pal
A list of people I didn’t text:
my parents, my siblings, my in-laws
To Gillet Pond
In wildness is the preservation of the world
-Thoreau
Find the trailhead beyond cell reach
How does one push through overwhelm? The news buries me beneath a mountain of anxiety, so I leave my swivel chair spinning when I ditch my computer inside. The trick
is to turn off all notifications and badges on your smartphone. Misnomer. Maybe holdouts without such devices are the smart ones. Silence the dings from the family’s group chat, appointment reminders, and memories of this past year’s losses.
A warbler breaks into my head
with a trill
I agree, Henry David. (I’ve pulled out my pocket notebook while I sit on a fallen log to say this.) Under the canopy, I worry that I am a woman alone in the woods. Fear hurries me
to a place of seclusion, surrounded by fallen limbs and the green understory, the air gravid as an overdue woman whose water is ready to break. At the pond, I am safe in Mother Earth’s arms. Why must I let fear waylay me? Distant traffic sounds carry. Wary. Always, there’s a reason. But, look: an American copper and a grizzled skipper have landed on the nearby orange butterfly weed. I pull out my camera.
Nature paintings:
ascendant trail markers
discernment ( & the Ant)
Well, yes–marching along single-filed, good
-natured bunnytailbubble kids like us,
dropped Dorito-bound, lined up sock-footed
en route down stacked cinder block inscriptions…
We look up. A Dollar Tree clock, viscous thick
now over the Wall’s pocked bricks, oozing goo,
fills the grooves. Our one request we quickly
scrawl, path tracing letters that reverse into
cursive incantations. Intangible
Peace at last born, borne by child’s instrument
of petulant destruction. We
called time here. Nursed it
with salt water, and held it in our mandibles.
We became wet nurse to an experiment
Fusing fire, sweat, and ice. We are not the clock.
To sojourn on alone in the constant construction of continued existence
is difficult
but must be taken.
Other days, though, the path of perilous persistence welcomes companions along the way.
They journey with you to destinations planned and spurred
and while the winding path is fraught with dangers:
curving roads that lead you astray,
an idle mind that ignores the signs of caution (figuratively and literally), an unforseen discussion of vulnerable lore;
We seek the joys in the experience:
the roads are curvey and confusing but we find stories and jokes through the detors,
I forget the color red at a crossing path but my commarades remind my sight (we laugh horrendously about it seconds later), we’re vulnerable and it’s beautiful to be accepted for it all because it all equates to you, us, and this fellowship we have.
To sojourn alone is a necessary feature of our ever frantic reality,
but communion with kin and kindred
can be found betwixt the lonesome parts
of the hero’s destined journey.
Embrace it when you can.
06-28-2025:
Something about having you in my passenger seat
captures all the moments that never developed on film
and tucks them tightly in my pockets
overflowing with the magic that fireflies make
on a warm night in July.
Something about the way you stick your head out the window
and smile back at me
makes the fears ebb and flow away
thoughtless as a jellyfish.
I think I made the right decision.
Oh Great Grand Daddies you ever beckon
Solid Safe Solemn ~ as you
Wrap us in your gargantuan arms
Your playful souls oozing collective charm
Ancient wisdom reels Rockefeller’s wealth
Generously sharing Aristocratic views
As mystical fog tiptoes and bathes
Soothing us with gnome leprechaun charms
The way you hold court in purple majesty
Circles channeling messages of magic wisdom
Seep up from roots of fallen comrades ~ never forgotten
Revealing toe-curling truths of transformational surrender
A tender language truth is
Loudest in the middle of one’s limbs
Healing wounds in soul-sanctioned groves
Circled witnesses prophesize profound direction
Oh Generous forefathers, you have saved the biggest and the best
for us your children
May we be humble enough to listen to your virile voices ~
prophetically guiding us to soft landing
Urging us to
Spend time in your arms ~ Listening to your silent wisdom
In the early days
Before the white man came
The birds sang their songs
The trees relaxed
their resplendent arms unto the world
Animals of all kinds
roamed the lands
There was plenty
We took from the land
And the land gave back to us
Great Father Sun rises, greets us
Bathes us in warm golden light
Whatever the season
The light of dawn returns
his blessing, our gift
Visible but tightly closed –
Like an abused teenager –
I observe the flower’s presence
In the early morning.
I sit and write surrounded by the
Peace and hum of life
Awakening to the day.
The sun crests the trees and
Stabs my eyes with its
Blinding rays.
I shift into the shade
To find the blossom
Slowly unfurling. Despite the
Sunlight being indirect, it reacts.
Yellow center and long
Red stamens,
Tipped with velvety dots,
Respond to the axis of light,
Anticipating the warmth and
Brilliance of the summer day.
