I carry it with me,
this bag of bones,
of broken down building blocks.
These I have gathered,
these moldering bits of a million little memories,
times and places and people,
thousands over the course of a life,
tucked away for safekeeping.
It drags behind me,
clatters and clacks in a diabolical cacophony.
Always I carry this calcified collection,
but only a few can see,
and those few know the weight of it themselves.
They carry their own
bones in sacks, dangling from weary hands.
Why is not the question.
It is when.
When to open it?
And which.
Which to choose?
And how.
How to fit that one fragile bit into the puzzle just so.
Oh yes,
the burden is heavy,
and every day it grows.
But for those who carry the bags,
curate the bones and create new skeletons,
there is no greater treasure.
Poetry
To the Women Who Came Before (A Poem for Women’s History Month)
To you,
the women,
the warriors and weavers and
witches and wanderers,
the brave and bold
who came before,
I promise this:
My light will magnify your light.
I will shine because
you reached for the sky
and grabbed the sun and moon and stars
to fight the darkness.
Your words,
your courage,
your heart,
your home –
the one you made with your own hands –
will live on in me.
I will stand and speak.
My voice will carry as yours,
over the mountains you climbed,
across the sands of time
and the pillars and platforms you built.
I won’t make myself small
just to fit into the corners
of a world made and sustained
by mothers.
I cradle your wisdom in my soul
because you carved a place for it.
I will keep that place
sacred and whole.
I will nurture the fire you lit
and pass the eternal torch.
In Like a Lion (A Poem)
Leonine you are, we say,
but today, only light –
winds,
clouds,
gray, mild sunshine,
and a breezy chill in the air.
Perhaps you’re saving energy,
waiting for better prey –
a colder, wetter, wilder moment,
a time to truly roar,
to give a little more of your royal self.
You’ll pounce then,
claws and jaws and teeth and trouble,
and surprise us all.
Look Both Ways (A Poem)
Take a step
Then another
And then another after that
Move forward not back
Be brave and blaze the trail ahead
But look both ways
There’s wisdom in the past
A Sort of Love Poem
*I had planned to post a sweet song for Valentine’s Day yesterday, and then a poem today. But time got away from me yesterday, as it so often does, and well, here we are. So, here’s a sort of love poem, and a video of me singing some Gillian Welch by the fire. I hope you enjoy both! And if you’re in the US and in the line of fire – er, ice – with this latest winter storm, stay safe and warm!*
Dear Someone,
I don’t need you, but
I’d like to meet you
nonetheless.
It might be fun, Dear Someone,
to see where things could go,
but no, I’m not waiting for you.
See, I’ve got other things to do.
It’s a big universe, after all,
Dear Someone,
and who can say who meets who
and when.
Though I hope we do,
eventually, some time, someday,
maybe.
And so,
Dear Someone,
whoever you are,
if by chance we stumble across each other
at some party or in some bar,
I’m open to the possibility.
Practice Makes Perfect (A Poem)
One, two, three
Chapters
Lines
Cups of coffee
Thousand words
Not quite done
Write it down
Write it down
Work it out
Find the phrase that
Makes it perfect
Over and over
Then and now
“Time, time, time
See what’s become of…”
My work
My mind
Too much
Or much too finite
Practice, practice, practice
The difference between:
Talent
And
Mastery
Patience, patience, patience
Is a virtue
Is a struggle
Is the space between
Good
And
Great
Not there yet, but –
Almost, almost
Always almost
Forever so close
Keep it up,
Keep it up,
Keep up the fight
It’s the plight
Of the creative soul:
To make it beautiful
But know
It will never be whole
Expecting Ice
Well, here we are again, expecting winter weather – not just snow, also ice. Hopefully not as much as last time, but we’ll see.
We are supposed to get a couple of inches of snow, so I’m excited for that, at least.
I’ll be recording a podcast episode this afternoon, so I hope I get to watch it snow while I chat with my friend and we create something good. That would be nice. But again, we’ll see. (And if you want to listen to the podcast, here’s a link to it on Spotify: Better Friendships on Spotify.)
Anyway, here are a couple of things I wrote thinking about the incoming storm.
While lying in bed last night, unable to sleep, anxious about the weather:
We’re expecting ice again today.
Please just make it go away.
Not a winter wonderland,
not fun, like playing in the sand.
Just slick and heavy and dangerous.
I really hope it misses us.
And something a little more thoughtful, after my first cup of coffee:
A beautiful danger
makes slow and steady progress –
tree limbs press down and strain
against the weight of it,
as if the whole world could break.
This glistening villain,
freezing fingers and frigid breath,
holds a glinting blade behind its back
and betrays all who love the cold.
I love winter, but these ice storms are killing me. I’m still holding out hope that before the end of the season, we’ll see some snow. Fingers crossed!
Old Walls (A Poem)
Old walls
Stand strong
The test of time
It touches all
Some pieces crumble
And fall away
But the center holds
The center holds
Fast against the weight
It dares to last
The old walls
Rise from solid earth
And all around
New life brings new light
Bright again
Old walls
Tell the tale
Of many moments made one
And become part of
The halls of history
For each and all
Don’t Bet Against Me (A Poem)
When I was born
six weeks too early, too tiny,
and before I even had a name,
they took bets on whether I’d make it.
I made it.
I’ve always made it,
every moment of every day,
even when I shouldn’t have,
when I should have failed,
I’ve made it.
And I’ve made it good.
So I tell people:
Don’t bet against me.
Underestimate me and
just wait and see
what happens.
Because I made it, and I’ve made it, and I’ll make it.
I am my own hero,
my own knight in shining armor,
my own deus ex machina,
my own miracle.
I am unstoppable,
unflappable,
unembarrassed,
unashamed,
and unconcerned with those who’d doubt me.
I made it.
Even when it’s impossible (nothing’s impossible),
when it’s too dark to see (there’s always light),
when the game seems lost (life’s not a game):
Whatever you do,
don’t bet against me.
The New Year (A Poem)
The cold moon ushers in the New Year –
full of promise,
flanked by worry and doubt and fear,
but new nonetheless, and fresh and free.
May we all see dreams made real,
time and touch and love,
and may we be happy.
May we take this year and make it
what we want and need,
and may we do what we can do.
May we happen,
and not get happened to.
The New Year opens the door.
May we all walk through.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 