hope ~ such a small word to consider so much ~

this and the vast holding of the weight of our hearts 

as we struggle to make sense of the senseless 

~ near impossible at times. 

hope, in the wait, may only be one tiny thing ~ 

I beg you to get down on your knees 

and know it's there waiting to unfurl itself. 

xo

the mural found me

it was pressed against 

a cement wall

I'd walked through that alley

many many times

always going someplace

a bit too fast

thinking I'd like to create

something I could hold in my hands

offer to you

maybe fall in love, 

all over again

the red eye of the sea star 

called me to a halt

I touched it then placed my finger

to my wrist

then forehead

the wall was wet

not paint but morning air

thick enough to chew on

when I spit out blood 

I knew what I had to do

xo

it's the itty tiny things 

that will keep us sane

the watering of plants

know and remember

to keep a thing alive

turn toward the light

 test soil temperature 

 give thanks and love 

xo

At our house it is indeed the itty things:

one egg instead of two for breakfast

are we rationing or in communion?

of so many others with less or none.

We eat a healthy meal mid-afternoon 

it serves as both lunch and dinner

it allows us time to digest in all ways

and though listening doesn't get easier 

and the news shared is heart-breaking

and unknowns stack up like sad numbers

we still sit and hold hands.

xo

the birds didn't leave this winter 

they didn't fly south

like so many of our neighbors

they stayed and sang

roosted in the winterberry bush

where we watched and listened

from our small round kitchen table

fluffy bodied tiny things

holding on to the bare bones

of a bush that should have been pruned long ago

everything exposed

waiting for the mighty sun to gain 

length and strength once again

and still they sing 

xo

Twenty-Twenty

Normal Sharpness 

And just what does this mean?

I'm not talking about the eye chart 

or the way you look at me.

I'm not talking about seeing near or far.

I talking about your fingernails scratching my back.

Simple loving ways you touch me.

Your arm flung across my body at the stop sign,

and in the mornings 

with your open palm feeling 

the thud and thump of me.

New moment, new day, new year, 

new decade, new century.

What else will prove normal against the sharpness

of being alive, being here ~ now? 

xo

December 2019

Reverence may take all kinds of forms, depending on what it is that awakens awe in you by reminding you of your true size. Wherever you are, you live in the world, which is just waiting for you to notice the holiness in it. Is it being empty that creates a space and place to fill, again? It has nothing to do with you being gone but then again perhaps everything. Now, this is what I have I think; me. And she isn’t as she’s aspired or inspired to be. The only thing missing is our consent to be where we are. I boil one egg, wash a small blue plate, a gift from an old friend I’d lost, in yet another move, to find home. I’ve borrowed lines, in italics, from the book An Altar in the World, by Barbara Brown Taylor, as her words crack my heart and world wider open. I’m hoping the same for you. xo

May we all remember in this time of new darkness

that the light shines from within. 

May we hold our loved ones close. 

Let's try not to tell anyone else how or who or what 

they might be able to do or be to live more wholly or holy. 

Let's trust in trust.

Listen to our own hearts and be amazed at what they do for and with us. 

Let's go gently into a new time. 

xo