Skip to main content

since I asked

                          ~for Joanie

 

 Yes, we know about you, and none of that matters.

We know how you keep turning over rocks,

opening doors. I have no idea how it works,

no idea if the whole world sees us as kin.

How could she not?

We know we are cut from the same cloth,

you and me, an afternoon breeze around the neck,

grateful for easy       when it finds us.

Even in black and white, we know how to marvel.          

EXACTLY Wow!

 

Yes, and we know how to transform          day to day,

give patience to steady becoming.

Our generation – once tucked up tightly in an oak gall,

encroached the safe verges with indiscretions.

We could not help it;           they pushed through our skin,

provoked by our grandmothers, and we crashed around like toddlers.

We know it was necessary to be embarrassed and appalling,

the only rungs to climb out of tepid dishwater.

Of course, it was impossible to plan or know what or how to enter.

Extemporaneous the buzzword, we made it up as we went.       

EXACTLY Wow!

 

We know about living the moment, psychotropics sat us down.

How the stumble found the treasure and to feel took more.

I would turn a silver ring like a millstone on my middle finger,

the fear into flour. When a waxing moon got involved, we knew

what happened to heartache. She said less is more. Keep walking.        

EXACTLY, Wow!

 

We know about wonder, how it flies in, reckless and stubborn,

a cyclone of swallowtails, a reliable migration.

And we know about nostalgia, those sooty cobwebs

to distort the glisten and fade sweetness on the tongue.

We know that because we know about longing,

how it confounds continuity, makes a touchstone

of happenstance and never mind.

 

When we pitched the red tent ages ago,

we knew it would billow in stories before it fell.

I have what you have, as if I needed you, I am you.

Between the threads grew enough humble, enough silly, enough strength.

And that tent, sun faded to the color of Utah sands,

abides in our bellies, kettle drums of alive.

 

We know to follow the golden thread, we learned the shortcuts.

Sometimes we didn’t take them -

the date rape at the drive-in,

getting hassled in the parking lot at Planned Parenthood,

the onerous box of family secrets,

that Amway Pyramid dream.

 

Yes, we knew and we know.

We are complicated persons.

Grandmother Spider, Sky Woman,

Sunanda, Minera,

Rhea, Freya,

Anan, Quan Yin

You don’t need to be a goddess to get it    

EXACTLY, Wow!  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.

Covid Journal Entry 14

April 4, 2020 Today’s image – Exploring social cohorts. So, on campus now there is a small village of us living together, the remnants of those in residence this year.   We are an international population: seven from the US, six from Vietnam, five from China,   four from Morocco, one from the DR and two dogs/three cats.   We share four large buildings where we live, take our meals, study and exercise, on a five-acre campus. The rest of the two hundred and sixty or seventy odd community members are sheltering in their homes; some of the teachers and administrators dropping by during the week to work in their offices.   We have had little or no contact with them so far.   Our chef and his crew of two come in by rotation to prepare and serve the daily meals, a maintenance duo tend to the essential tasks and repairs, the city services haul away trash and recycling, the postal service, UPS and FedEx still deliver mail and packages.   It’s Iowa and the gove...

Covid19 Journal Entry 13

April 3, 2020 Today’s idea – I want to follow a suggestion of looking at my situation through different lenses. A macro lens magnifies my considerations of things, hopefully so that I might notice what I’m overlooking. Peering through these eyes, I see life slow down and seem more intentional with the extended solitude of quarantine.   The introverted place in me is mostly fine with this state of things, until the longings for companionship or just hanging out with friends stirs up unruly emotions. These vex me because they take on the old voice of negative self-talk.   In this head space I can turn normal feelings of missing my family, particularly sons and granddaughters into an old loop of “they don’t mis me so much anyway because I’m not around like most good grandmothers are.”   I’ve even given myself a moniker, VAG, visiting aunt grandmother.   Somehow it makes me feel less consequential but still adorable.   We live out our choices and our strokes o...