Merrill Wharf near the Portland Fish pier. Portland, Maine
Moonflower
At first light in the nursery, songs would be sung.
Poppy
from Skillin’s Greenhouse, Falmouth, Maine
He is telling me a story about a friend slitting his wrists. I look at his forearms...
Dear Anonymous,
He is telling me a story about a friend slitting his wrists. I look at his forearms. The inside of his forearms show long white scars running about 6 inches long. One arm carries 3 or 4 crisscrossed scars.
I pause.
He looks up at me.
'I have disassociative disorder. One of me was telling me to cut. The other was being cut.'
I am still pausing.
Ardea herodias. Calling you this, my Great Blue Heron, makes my skin tingle.
Ardea herodias. Calling you this, my Great Blue Heron, makes my skin tingle.
Memory from July 10th, 2017
maybe I'll try again to organize the tupperware drawer.
maybe I'll try again to organize the tupperware drawer.
To your dark mystery and beauty. To all I'll never know about you. Or me. This moment. The extent of our relationship.
To your dark mystery and beauty. To all I'll never know about you. Or me. This moment. The extent of our relationship.
When she lost her hair we stumbled a bit until we recognized her again.
When she lost her hair we stumbled a bit until we recognized her again.
Bow Tie-ish
Bow Tie-ish
Borage Bloom. Stars in the Sky. Greenhouse Constellations.
Borage Bloom. Stars in the Sky. Greenhouse Constellations.
Last night I was lying in bed very early. Done with the day. Thunder rumbled. Rain was falling.
Last night I was lying in bed very early. Done with the day. Thunder rumbled. Rain was falling. I was grieving the end of one of those books that I fall in love with and am so excited I can't wait to read but mourn when it comes to those last chapters. So, I began to read it again, as I am wont to do. I fell asleep and as I opened my eyes the two windows in my bedroom were glowing cadmium red. And just as I saw that brilliant glow and before I could be disappointed I had missed it with camera in hand, it began to fade and I fell back asleep. Into a deep, dark sleep. And I had this thought, like this may be like dying. And that was a comfort.
This is how you will 'go to seed' and I will try and recover from seeing this...
This is how you will 'go to seed' and I will try and recover from seeing this. Try and close my jaw which has dropped open. Try and recover from never imagining this as a solution to your propagation. I will think of water and winter and weeds in parking lots in late February. I will need to shake that thought off a bit and remember it is July. It is July.
Dear god. You make me laugh out loud...
Dear god. You make me laugh out loud. Not being a fan of carnations I take a long walk, day after day, around the table filled with them. And then, from the corner of my eye you show up in this way and make mockery of my carnation bias. And I laugh out loud.
holding tenderly without clutching. holding tenderly without refusing to bloom...
holding tenderly without clutching.
holding tenderly without refusing to bloom.
holding tenderly even as we unfold.
holding tenderly what we deem impossible.
There was urgency in the nursery.
There was urgency in the nursery.
Whether the borage lined up like horses or horses lined up like borage.
Whether the borage lined up like horses or horses lined up like borage.
Years ago I officiated a funeral for a young woman who died of a fatal overdose...
Years ago I officiated a funeral for a young woman who died of a fatal overdose. Her daughter, a teenager at the time had told me in a meeting 'I want my mom's funeral to be something to remember.'
The family handed flower seeds to all who attended that service, seeds carefully wrapped in paper origami flowers they had made. I'll never forget their attention to that detail. Them sitting together. Folding that paper. Tucking in perennial seeds.
After the service on a cold, windy day in early spring I planted those seeds.
Each year they return in my garden. Stronger and healthier and more beautiful than the previous season.
I am comforted by her company though I never knew her. To the daughter of this woman: your mom's funeral was unforgettable to me.
Being Bee.
Being Bee.
...He seems to be barely hanging on.
Dear Anonymous,
He was at the corner of an intersection. Alone. At 6 AM when there are few if any cars going by. Carrying an illegible sign. Carving a tiny, little space to be at a traffic light that people would have to eventually stop. But not for him.
He can barely speak. His eyes wide open. Light blue grey eyes big as saucers, and I wondered if light itself may hurt when it enters.
He accepts water and socks and a coffee card. A clean t-shirt. He does not smile but I can see he is appreciative.
He seems to be barely hanging on.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
What Robin was posting.
What Robin was posting.