Truth on Time


stars going out, east first
its dawn! the day beginning
halfway through my life

the birds play sharp staccato
rhythm voices, someone snores
off tune. how can they sleep
through earth’s awakening?
there’s no time, there’s none

there’s all the vast expansive
time of this white sky and
this crisp morning, sun
arriving loyal and on time
falling in with time and traveling

in perfect pace, while I impatient
rush ahead, run out of breath and
fall behind, or try to see a sunset
when its only noon.


tell the truth about the time.

or lie. It doesn’t change
the shining or the fading.

tell the truth about the time!
to yourself and to the others


travel north, the sun will travel
west above your head and come
again tomorrow with a kiss and
promise to return again tomorrow

and tomorrow
and tomorrow

while you laugh or grieve or snore
ignore or live or lie or sing in
sharp staccato rhythm like
the birds or soft breath whisper
song like me


Tree. Love. Medicine.


the tree was waiting

just for me. she seemed

to be welcoming me onto

her outstretched limbs

the child of me was a tree

climber, so i let her out

just enough to help me clamber

onto a low lying branch

the oak was dressed in mosses

and lichen- a mint green lace

an emerald feather boa

and i think of course, of love.

did i throw away too much?

thinking it was his

when it was mine?

i wonder what would it be like

to fall

in love again?


the forest is lush and sweetness all

around me and I think

i am in love with this.


lovers I have found

can be self-centered

and i wonder- am i

a narcissistic lover of

the wild lands? Do i love you

for what you are?

or for what i am when i am with you.



how can i touch you

(like i long to touch you!)

if my love becomes so pure “I” disappear?

i’m not so enchanted that i want you to

annihilate me.

don’t send me a bear or a lion when

you can send me flowers instead.


its only when i’m love-drunk-ecstatically-flat-out

that i sometimes cry for that

white bright burning

but we don’t know each other that well

yet. so be gentle

rock me in the breeze instead

cradle me and let me stay

a child a little longer

let me tell you all my stories.

my long rambling dreams

listen to me with a serious

cock of your head. even if you suspect

that most of it i’m just

making up.

i’ll feel safe with you

maybe you can praise my tender efforts

there’s no one more beautiful

than you, i swear!

i want to give you everything

i want to throw my heart wide

open. stop pretending to be

shiny. find, and catch your eye.

i want to look at you and spill

the whole ugly story and see that

somehow, at the end.

you would still be looking back.

did i give away too much?

have i made a mess or inconvenienced

you- in any way?

shall i fold in now and let my body

go transparent?

what is loving but a wound?


i love this tree so much i

climb up into her deep branches

and the lacy moss

gets torn.


i’ve been here and

i’ve loved you

now we’re both a little more

broke open.



Persephone’s Wedding


the shrill abduction

went so quietly

i, the frilly centerpiece

smiling stark determination

i had shown before, when once

the stylist murdered

my teenage curls

the hair (so much of it!)

 had been cut off

the ribbons (so many!)

had been sewn on

white dress, promise made

what good would it have

done me to admit

i wasn’t satisfied?

mother’s face is showing

in the pictures

what my own could not

mother doesn’t usually, but somehow

mother saw. the gap

the horses coming

smile girls, this is your day!


New Life

IMG_0766My daughter takes me by the hand
“Mama, come and see what I planted!”
She brings me shoes; no reason to decline
Her insistent hand pulls me along
This woman child, nearly nine, no longer only mine
She takes me to the graveside of a rotten spud
Half buried in the earth
The Worms have eaten holes right through
We bend, admiring its vast decaying tunnels
“Mama, did you even know I planted it?”
I hadn’t, yet the shoots
Had sprouted waxy green and new

the family in our mandala

IMG_8869the family gathers
themselves in the
stick and leaf mandala
we have spent an hour
making and we cringe
a little, then give way
to change

those sticks were up
and now they’re not so 
maybe, put them up again?

the man has guided the child
so gently down the fallen tree
they call a highway
with just the perfect balance
between protector and
co-adventurer i can’t
stop watching and i call as
they come down to me

you’re such a good daddy
i tell this gentle stranger
and he smiles and takes it in

the women and the other children
cross the stream below my vantage
the boy with shining hair holds tightly
to his mother’s hand and steps on to
a rolling branch so easy while
she chooses steps to match

i’ve very much enjoyed the way 
your family crosses streams-
with love
i tell her and she smiles and says
the mud is really sticky if you
want the full experience


prayer to the god of aces

2014-08-05 17.25.22

i have decided to stop

grousing when i play

cards with family when

the cards don’t deal my

way i will no longer live

as if i had some unfair

disadvantage, but

instead enjoy

the happiness i see

on other people’s faces

and believe the gods of kings

and queens and serfs have

dealt me thus because they


my skills’ enough to overcome

my wayward luck

rocks and roots

rocksandrootsi make a temporary home
for just the afternoon
where rocks and roots
embrace so tightly by the
stream they become one
another they change
for each other

here at the water’s edge
i find a pool for mermaid
dipping in, a place
where love gets in
and for a while I pray
for you  and willfully
ignore your messages

i pull the layers off
and slide in naked
choosing gratitude not shame
author-ity not institution
integrity not law
become the huntress and the
virgin who renews her wholeness

we cannot make each other whole
but recognize a kindred soul
hold on like rocks and roots
that grow together
make the bank where
what was once the hidden lakes
and what was once the snow
becomes the cooling pool
becomes the laughing brook


the reason for my writer’s block

picky-eater_thumbMy mind is like a finicky eater. My mind child comes reluctantly to the table, and I offer her things to eat- memories so sweet, secrets so juicy, and tales so nuanced and tender that I think she can’t fail to consume them. But my mind child just picks at everything. She makes faces and sighs, and sneaks sentences under the table to the dog when I’m not looking. She picks up a single word, like a grape, and peels it delicately before licking it and then squeezing it between her fingers until it pops loose and flies across the table. She stirs the chapter I have lovingly prepared for her around like mashed potatoes and drags her fork through it before looking up and asking if there isn’t anything else to choose from. Sometimes she even scoots down off her chair and goes rummaging through the cupboards in search of something better. There’s a box of writing prompts in there that have some possibilities, but she just shakes it once and checks the expiration date. These prompts, apparently, have grown a little stale. She doesn’t even consider the nutritious sacks of memories on the pantry shelf. Writing is far too difficult when you have to start from scratch, even if you have the best ingredients.

the wild strawberry

800px-Indian_strawberry444not every story of enlightenment
extols the absence of desire

the only time you'll ever have
is now and finds you here

hanging on a cliff edge
a tiger above you
a tiger below

no hope
two mice are
chewing on the only vine
you cling to, panic
if you want to, try
to climb to safety, but
there isn't any

there is one thing
only one thing
hanging, still

within your grasp

a wild strawberry
taste it, savor
the sweet red fruit
enjoy the space between
the tigers, the sweetest
time there ever was is 


the sun god in the underworld

Fire Promptfrom the great above
you open your ear
to the great below

its calling your name

the call gets louder
echoing, ringing
shouting, beating
pounding in your mind
even if no one else
can hear it

to answer could mean death
to ignore it most certainly
will kill you

well meaning friends might
try a hundred times to
talk you out of it

it isn't their call

unknowing but compelled
aching but resolved
you cross the threshold

every gate is locked until
you let go all the things
you hold most dear,
the final gate finds you
with no defenses left

the warrior that you are
can finally say today
i die and gates
fall open, awed by
your despairing strength