In Between

naked in the rain

 i left apples 

In the crook of a tree
for the creature who finds them.

something deeper than everything

 calls me

to connect

to the unseen.

October 31 2019

Mother

My mother
My grief
My love

I think I am dying
She told my dad
How intimate
What a connection they shared.

through the dissolution
of her body and mind
we connected,
she and i
my mother and i connected

Help me
she said
and i did.

taking the time

he said he saw her that morning,
the old lady,
the grandmother,
on her knees in the kitchen
picking up oatmeal
flakes of oatmeal

when the bag of garbanzo beans over flowed
onto the kitchen floor today
and i knelt down
picking them up
one at a time
i thought of the old woman

knowing the value of one thing
taking the time
to pick it up

it is not the first time that memory has returned

i stop to pick up
i kneel to wipe the floor
i take the time

maybe

maybe - he wrote page after page
just that word

maybe
i am waiting, for courage
to write,
to let this voice be commanding
in its kind quest to awaken and be heard

it was awakened
and i think it frightened me a bit
so strong it was
so sure
so deft with words
how could something so spontaneous be considered of value?
how could it be trusted?

and then there are her paintings,
joan mitchell
i see pieces of my thread are the full fabric of her expression.

  so
maybe
that's where i am living from, right now,
dear Jack.

being human this morning

feeling and watching feeling
crickets chirp
tires on a gravel road
memories of the morning walk

each day
noticing
able
willing
to hold this space open





everything experienced tests the edges of who i think i am
any resistance is invited to soften into
this namelessness that embraces
everything
as itself.

what resists being loved
is gifted mercy.

the crickets pulse
spiderwebs catch the morning light
mercy breathes me into stillness