At first light in the nursery, songs would be sung.
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.
Thank you for teaching me to look a bit closer. Look a bit longer. Both into the light. And into the dark...
Thank you for teaching me to look a bit closer. Look a bit longer. Both into the light. And into the dark. There are treasures everywhere. Happy Birthday Anne Madden.
Away from this drama or that, the mist collects on your leading edge regardless of any notice of this...or that.
Away from this drama or that, the mist collects on your leading edge regardless of any notice of this...or that.
In perfect order when all else seems upended. Watching this impulse of great hurt.
In perfect order when all else seems upended. Watching this impulse of great hurt.
So, it's tender. I think about, and name the long litany of names...
So, it's tender. I think about, and name the long litany of names and feel all the ones I know personally who have died from fatal overdoses. The ones I loved. And still love. I think of so many folks I know who have lost count of all the people they have lost. Imagine that? LOST COUNT. They can no longer remember after the first 15 or 20 deaths.
And the ones that struggle now. That struggle mightily. The siren call of the drug de jour that doesn't give a sh**. But, oh, the call away from pain. The call toward a tremulous relief. Like these little raindrops. Clinging and temporary. Beautiful and at a different scale no different than boulders.
Inevitable falls. And maybe that is the rhythm of a life that is chosen.
All I can do is collect raindrops in my own folds and know they drop like boulders on some.
Folks are scattered this morning and one young man is arranging his pack under a staircase...
Dear Anonymous,
Folks are scattered this morning and one young man is arranging his pack under a staircase off the street in an alley.
This is how the hairs on his arms were. Each hair a jungle of drops beginning to collect the dew and the rain. He comes over with a smile.
'I called my parents.' he says with a voice buoyed by something. Maybe hope.
'I wanna' go home.' he continues and the tone goes down an octave.
'I hope they come get me.' he adds with what sounds like a question, a doubt. Maybe fear.
Then,' I miss my little baby girl.'
His daughter is 2 and a half years old.
I hope he can go home.
'I don't wear collared shirts.' he states though I do notice he is wearing one...
Dear Anonymous,
'I don't wear collared shirts.' he states though I do notice he is wearing one. He is emphatic. His speech punctuated with meaning.
'Last time I wore one of those was at my partners' funeral. We were together three and a half years. I changed his diapers at the end. No mention of me in the obituary. No mention of me at the funeral. His sister, she took everything...'
and then he is choked up. No words. A long painful moment, a perplexingly long inhalation that has stopped and I just want to breathe for him.
'I'll take the shirt.'
It is a Ralph Lauren. I tell him Ralph would be lookin' good on him. We smile.
He suddenly animates himself,eyes to the leaden sky. 'Faaaaaaahhhhhhccccckkkkkkkkkkk. And now the rain!'
He leaves. What is it we leave. What is it we carry forward like him, in a wobbly shopping cart lifted from across the bridge in another town. Filled with the crumpled and broken. With the redeemable. With our baggage placed alternately with tenderness and violence.