Holding Space

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Would that all who’d seen fit
To have been unkind to me
Have their childhood wounds healed

Here, look from my window

Flower and vegetable gardens
Fruit tree and fire pit
Baseball, my love, baseball

As I Stand Today

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Ode to the she-stranger, whom I never met

Yesterday, upon my knees

“Respiras,” my aura begged her

Then quietly and years ago, she-stranger did oblige

As if she wore my atoms, said for only me to hear

“You lucky, lucky girl.”

Original Thought Credit: Marty McConnell’s “FRIDA KAHLO TO MARTY McCONNELL”

Miso Not So Bad

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Shaved brussels
Not yet past their prime
Fresh peas, though the ideal
Unneeded, now, to build this meal

Please pray with me
My dying wish — the miso’s not gone bad
In the refrigerator way

Kitchen shears that snip-snipped happily at chives that waited just for me
All
Summer
Long
Somehow found their way to the floor
Could be an honest omen, or
A sign of what’s to come

Not my garden’s tomatoes, fool
They’re for another day!

Please forgive the white, white rice
Devoid of what I crave

Sesame to remind me and tofu hacked haphazardly
Tamari, I wish

Here, this delicious dish

August Thursday

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I am the tangled mess
The girl of your youth, whose eyes you dared not look deep into
And never said goodbye to

That I saw you, lovely, tangled, too
Need not have scared you

My broad understanding
Your broad shoulders
We were called
To beckon back the lightning that twisted our existence

But for your fear of me that August Thursday
But for my depth that ran too deep
And your unspoken goodbye
We’d have set our world straight

But instead
Goodbye
Tangled, tangled mess

Universe Orator

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Space

The far out there we strive to delve into
The mired-down terra here we call home

Be brave, if you will

Act to master the wherefore
Despite arms never long enough
Lousy, camera-fumbling hands
Fingers that can’t match the shutter speed
To touch what the eyes so beautifully see
To hold that light reflecting
From the Universe Orator

Still, we of mortal’s strength
With small or great faith
Must reach celestial-ward
Look up
Cry out
Be healed

Original Thought Credit: “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”
-2 Chronicles 7:14

Fruit Nut

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Sweet plum
Summer’s crown jewel
Ripened
Smiling, still

Though ghosted
Chipped away at
Hollowed out
Cut in two

Bitten off, but not spit out
For I remain
Saucy
Thus, your favorite fruit

Go On, Record

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For the record
And all the ’70’s vinyl we thrifted for those Saturdays as downtowners

For the turntable we excitedly found
And the way we felt our world spin and spin with it over and over again

For the record
Go on record
To say

You neither had a beach in mind
Nor the white dress for me you described
No thought for a home for us, at all

None lyrical love notes did you ever produce

We were just spinning
As broken records do
Over and over
Until you were over us