Look up

Notice that leaf

on an uppermost branch.

The wind challenges

its heroic grasp.

 *

All of its treemates

have long since released

their tenuous hold on life

blowing as they do into

far pastures and lanes,

byways fill with their corpses.

 *

They reveal

as they die

the winter’s architecture

of the cottonwood tree-

A ghost in black relief-

the autumn moon watching

through its arms.

 *

Look up

The leaf is holding on

to what is not meant for it -

Holding on

to this idea of immortality -

all the while losing

its grip

on the one life it has known.

*

This leaf

is one of millions of leaves

come and gone

in this ghost’s lifetime.

*

In autumn we say goodbye.

I want to be a light for you

*

shining the way

down the path,

to the doors,

around the obstacles.

*

I have no strength to give you,

No solutions to offer you.

*

I can’t pick you up,

can’t carry you,

can’t force you to see.

 *

All I can do

is say -

Hey look!

Did you notice that?

Do you see the choice?

Can you feel your power?

*

All I can do is

Light up the dark places -

show you another way to walk.

 *

All I can do is

Shine a light in your heart,

point out what was already there -

*

which is Strength Unimaginable

Goodness Unrealized

Resilience Untapped.

*

My light can speak truth

Into your dark places.

 *

Let me be your light.

I couldn’t look at her face

One more day.

Her cry was weak

My milk no longer strong enough

For a toddler

But I had no choice

No options

No food.

*

And the eldest one

11, a child-

a man with a gun

had grabbed her

had…touched her

had laughed

and I knew next time

it wouldn’t be just touch

*

every day was a struggle

a battle

just to eat

to feed my daughters

to protect them

from evil men

and so I ran.

*

I put our lives in the hands

Of a man I didn’t know

For 1000 small coins

I had squirreled away

From carrying garbage

*

And the journey was one

I could never repeat

But I repeated

“It will be worth it”

even as the man took me

my breasts heavy with milk

dripping as my baby sat in

her sister’s arms.

They were both crying

But he had said me,

Or her.

So it was me.

*

These girls are my life

I will give my life

I thought

It will be worth it.

*

We reached the end

And I thanked God

And wrapped my arms around my girls

And cried with joy.

We had reached the promised land.

*

The man turned to leave us and said

Cross there

When the sun goes down.

I said, “Wait, with you?”

He laughed

And squeezed my breast

And said, “Don’t you wish”

*

I had lost the ability

To even flinch

From the indignities

*

We hid until the sun

Dropped below

And then hid longer.

When all was quiet

We hid longer.

*

And then I woke her

And didn’t wake the baby,

Strapped her to my chest,

And we walked where

He had pointed.

*

The lights were blinding

The yells deafening

Chaos filled the quiet night

*

I grabbed for her

And they grabbed for her

and she was screaming

“No! No entiendes!”

And they didn’t understand

As they dragged her away.

*

And they asked me questions

And I was sobbing for her

And desperate to find to her

And they were unwrapping the baby

And I was clutching her

And I was screaming

And she was screaming

And I was holding her

So tightly I thought I would break her

And they wrenched my wrists

And they tied them

And they took her

Her little legs kicking

Her little nails scratching

Her little teeth biting

And I screamed

And her screams stopped

When the car door closed

And my milk drenched my shirt

A waste.

*

Photo by Roi Dimor on Unsplash

No one ever wrote your name in the stars.

*

Never sat under the night sky

And pointed up, saying,

See how it makes an A, and an N?

You belong to the universe.

You’re made of stardust, child.

*

No one laid under a tree

In the shade on a sunny day

And pointed up, saying,

See how the world spins?

How all of nature is swirling with joy

Over who you will be?

You belong to Mother Nature.

You’re made of the earth, child.

*

No one wrapped you up

When you were angry or sad or scared

And pointed to your heart, saying,

See how you feel?

It’s okay. I’m here.

You belong to me.

You’re made of me, child.

*

Who taught you to

Narrow your eyes

Suspicious of everything

And everyone

Who will let you down…

Because they will let you down?

*

Who has said,

You’re not stardust,

You’re just dust.

You’re not made of earth,

You’re just dirt.

You’re not made of me,

I don’t want you?

*

Give me a chance, child.

*

Let me show you

The glimmer of stardust in your eyes,

And how your horse responds

To the earth in your body,

You two made of the same clay.

*

Let me show you

That you are me,

*

And I am you,

*

And we belong to each other,

*

And that it is safe to hope.

*

“The cosmos is with us. We are made of star-stuff. We are the way for the universe to know itself.”

- Carl Sagan

I call myself a Teacher

but today,

the horse called me

Observer.

~~

It said, stand back.

Watch how I gather

unruly energy

and place it,

quiet, but white hot

in their bellies.

~~

Watch how I pluck

unintelligible words from the air

and make them clear.

~~

Opaque hearts,

now transparent.

Inscrutable eyes,

open.

~~

Observe, teacher,

how I take the shy

the loner

the heartbroken

the sad

and lean into them –

filling the dark holes,

demanding presence.

~~

Making them forget for a moment

their cuts

their violence

their hunger.

~~

And so, today, I am not a teacher.

Like Amos,

“I am not a prophet,

nor am I the son of a prophet,

but I am a herdsman,

plucking wild figs.”

~~

I’m gathering their stories.

Hold out your hand -

I’m giving them to you.

Hard lines, curves.

Circles bringing you

back around,

spiraling in and out

of the heart.

Broken pieces

hidden under strength,

color peeking from

behind black and white

and black oozing

from the inner sanctuary.

And abstraction,

An Actuality –

housed in the same body.

Mindful

distracted

Holding on

looking away.

Shapes and dribbles

held up by borders

of another’s design

struggling to break

Free.

Voice lodged in the throat

head down

bent low

walking forward

Bridges in and out of

the heart

Leading to here

and to heaven

and to hell.

________________________________________

**inspired by the abstract expressionist painting  “Woman” by Judith Godwin – 1954.

In the space 

between winter sunrises

and summer sunsets

lies a brief moment 

of Technicolor green.

~~

It pours over my eyelids

satiating the thirst.

I blink

and squint

and blink again,

wondering if this is a dream 

or a wish

I’ll wake up from.

~~

It heats up my corneas 

and burns my retinas.

I close my eyes

and still, I see it – 

emerald

jade

blades and leaves 

shouting their birth,

their significance 

in the order of things.

~~

I’m drunk

I’m dizzy.

I swim in the briefness

the gaiety

the reverie

of spring.

Sometimes I catch her gazing at the sunrise.

She faces east

and looks up, staring

as she chews her hay.

~~

She seems to be contemplating;

but, what?

~~

She cannot fathom its creator.

She cannot understand beauty or delight

such as I do.

She cannot compare it to yesterday

or wonder if it will be there tomorrow.

~~

Yet she gazes,

her eyes fixed on some

luminous point,

ears relaxed,

body quiet.

~~

And I think maybe she is just

acknowledging the sun

for what it is –

light

after long hours of darkness.

~~

And I think maybe she is right.

Maybe she’s onto something.

My thoughts have exploded into a million pieces and are floating flotsam above my head. I try to reach up and catch them and piece them back together, but they turn to dust on my fingertips. I let go and look up and they’ve formed back into broken bits of gravel, irritating my mind.

I arrive and sit on the mat, placed in my favorite spot where the sunlight filters through the window; and I begin to rein in my breath.

I stretch my hips back and my hands forward, my forehead on the ground, and begin to breathe deeper. I am asked for more honesty and so I make a couple of minor adjustments. The floodgates open and the tears begin to fall. I don’t stop them while I begin to move through the first poses.

Then the practice heats up and I begin to focus – stretching each pose long, as slow as my breath will allow. I find length and fluidity in my body and my breath. I dance with air, with my heart. I meld bone to muscle.

I scoop all of the intentions and light from those around me and gather it near my heart, allowing them to fill me with goodness. I can feel their breath on the back of my body and I accept it.

All of the thoughts floating above my head have begun to take shape and are spinning into a focused light, entering the place in my brain where they belong, where later I can make sense of them.

I don’t think now; I just move – my mind in complete stillness and connectedness with my heart.

I am full.

I practice. I play. I laugh and smile and then I rest, sinking into the clarity that was with me all along.