Collective Memory Puer

You smell like the forest floor after days of rain
Touch of cold in the air
Not a fir forest that holds tight to her needles
But the wisdom of the deciduous that knows to let go
Gives in to the gravity of the season

Trees that put all of their grief
Into the tips of their beings,
With the fading light of fall

And let go

Wisdom to shed
To give things up

Leaves, piles of loss and things better not clung to,
Bleeding rich and pungent
ochre red black brown tears
Into soil

Stew of puer
Places where memory gathers, rests and transforms.

On My Drive Home

The Lark Ascending begins,
Children, coats wrapped 'round waists,
Run from school
A small flock of birds taking flight.
Leaves swept upward on the breath of a fall breeze.

Geography Lesson I

On lazy days I sometimes parade around my house butch.
I want my hair cut "boy" short
--and sometimes I cut it!
I want my chest flat.
Like the plains I manspread on my little futon.
Hips narrow, chiseled shoulders; like canyon rocks.

Other days I like ambiguity, cultivate it;
Lipstick it.
Trimmed brows, hair smoothed close to my head, blue jeans,
Loose white tee showing off a pink polka dot bra.
I am the cave and the outcrop,
The jetty and the harbor,
Mountain and valley.

Today, it's a rare day.

Today, I'm all girl.
I slip around in my low-cut nightie,
Hips swaying, lips full, big hair,
Breasts loose and swinging.
Cows working their way back and forth across a field of rippled grass.
Fluffy clouds suspended in the sky.

Today I feel hollow, open, receptive, hungry.
Today I could bring it all in. 

In-side.

In-voluted.

A cave for an oracle, something hidden in the dark.
Something precious, protected, kept warm and sacred.
Ancient hearths below and stories above.
Invaginations of primordial waters.
Histories held secret and fears embraced.

January 23rd

My grief is as vast as an ocean
Its waves tsunamis.

I want you to head for safety.

I want you to stand at the receding waters and call me forth
Unafraid of drowning in my sorrow.

1:00 AM

Awake,
Listening through every inch of being
For the sounds of my Beloved
Sleeping or stirring.

Beloved is a word used by Rumi.

What if it wasn't Shams in Rumi's poems?
What if Shams and Rumi were the same person?
What if Rumi meant the self?
Or maybe Rumi meant both the self and other?

The self that is a part of the Dao, God, Allah, Jehovah...
What if we referred to our own selves as the Beloved?

Awake,
Anxious for sounds that my Beloved is healing,
I await sleep.

Smiles

I do not want to write about what is on my mind.
I want to paint pictures of sunny days, flowers in full bloom,
Warm breezes, fuzzy feelings.
I do not want to be honest about what I'm feeling.

What I am feeling is a bottomless well of grief.
If I shared all the grief in my lungs, bones, muscles and heart
It would fill the room, no matter how large or small,
It would fill it.
I'm not sure you can swim in my grief.
I'm not sure I can swim in my grief.

The ocean surrounded by fire
That is my heart.

I don't want to share this. I want to share beautiful things.
Lovely things that make the world a better place.
Not sadness of loss, of my own and others'.

I don't want to open my heart to you.
I'm not cold or shy.
I'm not heartless or strong.
I'm terrified the contents of my heart are toxic.
I'm stuck in the fear
Fear that what my heart holds
Overwhelms
Drowns
Scares.

Let me tell you lovely tales of survival,
Joy,
Love,
Kindness,
Spirit,
Friendship,
Generosity,
All the lovely things that make you want to be around me.

Let me show you only my smile.
My lovely smile that everyone says is contagious.
Please let me just show you that smile
Smile and eyes that are so good at reflecting back goodness.

Reflections on the Path

Already my center has shifted.

I am no longer sitting beneath the willow when I am in reverie
I am the willow
I am powerful and luminescent
I am golden warm lithe.

Rooted deeply
I grow towards the heavens
I become infinite as I move upwards and so solid as I grow deeper.

I am so light your pulse, her exhale, his inhale, ripples through me
Yet I stand firm and still and tall, able to support you and your waves of being.

I accumulate and expand as I breathe in and I become the nothing that is everything as I let the breath go.

I am wiser and more naive
I am opened raw as I grow fresh boundaries
I am motivated to the action that is a vibrating stillness.

Late Summer Morning

The news of rain reaches my nose first
Dissipating dust, heat and the opening of plant pores waft into my bedroom window
Just above my half sleeping form

I become alert, breathe more easily as I cool and everything around me cools.

Between exhales of relief, the tension of hot days evaporating,
I grieve

Tomatoes, melons, children from my past, friendships with elders
That will never reach their full fruition.

What I Can Give You

I can sit silently holding your grief in my arms, cradling it to me,
This chasm pulling you inward,
Taking your hand and holding you there until you are ready to crawl out.
Hearing what shouldn't be and what you don't want to share.
Feeling your pain within my marrow - circulating, pinching my muscles and becoming my own.

Welling up inside of me is a warrior, six feet tall, muscled, immovable,
Fierce, Shiva-Amazon-bear-banshee-malevolent-Pandora-huntress-Woman.
Unleash her for you, breathing, exhaling,
Winds that wipe away those who would wound you.
Let her move hearts for you with her gaze and presence,
Standing her ground until your will is done.
Holding time for you until you are your own army.

I can stand back and let you fight, ready to soothe your wounds.
Feed you, encourage you, push you forward.
Mara mother, Tara teacher, birthing you back to your own battle.

I can share your joy. I can quote Sufi lovers to you,
Men who experience the divine ecstasy of the mystery that is what connects you and me
You and them
Me and them.
Orthodox Jews who explain I and Thou.
Women who dance over fires and welcome each other to the struggle to be witnesses
To the experience of now, but can hold your yesterday and face you toward tomorrow.

I can tell you what I see in you,
Or what you need to hear right now.
I can sit with your indecision, or wait patiently as you get sidetracked,
Allowing you to make mistakes that aren't really mistakes, but aren't your true self.
I will be here waiting for you on the other side of this labyrinth
Winding us what seems like further apart but getting us closer to our centers.

It is my purpose and my meaning,
My need and my gift,
What I can share.

Hope Frozen

Today I tossed 7 little plastic bottles of hope into the dumpster.

7 frosted-over vials of love and wishes
breast milk for a baby who will never drink it

little labels with cartoon elephants
marked 2:50 AM

mom's sleepless night
dad's shift at the NICU

7 little containers holding so many possible futures gone

my hands are still cold despite hugs and words unspoken 
there are no words that heal the loss that leaves 7 little bottles frozen.

Spring Again

Rain stipples the sidewalk around me.

Gentle scents of daphne, hyacinth,

Evergreen clematis like jasmine. 

Breath of warmed soil startled awake.

Inner Silence

Hush my dear one
Like the sound of wind caressing green leaves. 


You cannot lead through violence,
Threats
Anger. 


You cannot force your will upon me. 
I refuse and grow rigid, defiant
and we both lose. 


Hush my dear one
Like the sound of wind caressing green leaves
I will comfort you. 


Your words cut like knives through me, my own 
self-inflicted pain 
Seep slowly through fibers of flesh and spirit  
Slow poison. 


Hush my dear one
Like the sound of wind caressing green leaves. 


                                Hush 


I will hold you
You are loved 


                                 You are loved. 

Falling Away

Under tiny needles
I am drawn deeper into myself.
Deep enough to fall away beyond myself.

I am not under the tree of light today, sitting still while waves lap on shores around me.
I am the light.

We are an innumerable collection of lights,
Of energy. Moving while still.
Individually collective.

Thanksgiving

As the last of fall leaves the trees,
As rain soaks into every pore of every inch of bark,
As the moss renews its strength and the wind turns southward,
I say a silent "thank you" to the walls of my home that hold in the warmth of the people within them.

Meow

Push, pull, the heels dig in, pushing back

The hands push forward and down

Pushing through fields of words

Through fields of who I think I am and who I am not. 

Treading waves of time

An attempt at an immortal "Ungh." 

A soft plop that is a child of mine

Slipping from between me

For you

Some creation of mine

That is also me

That can be yours

But I need to keep it safe, 

Keep it locked between the folds of 

Who I am

Who I want to be

That's not me

That's between us

Secrets that are intimately yours, mine, ours

That they validate

They stamp with approval

That we don't need 

And that we do need. 

A labor of my guts, my womb, 

My hands and my intellect. 

A child that cries into your arms

That leaps from me

While clawing it's way through me

Into me

From me

Exquisitely me

Delicious and bile

And ephemerally heavy

Without form

Without function

Without your approval

With your approval please

I yearn for you to embrace it

To embrace me. 

To share with you is to understand

Myself. 

To show you the dreams of a child

Alone in her closet

With her fears

Her mistrust

To block out the noise

To find that place within that feels solid

That doesn't exist

But has a voice

That asks for you to hear 

What you can't hear

What you can't see

What you can't feel

But leaves its impression on your hands

Heavy with guilt, love, the ecstasy of finding that inner place. 

Late

Night
Late
Sleep just ahead of me,
Ever ahead of me,
On the horizon
Out of reach
Out of step with me.

Trying to catch up keeps me awake,
keeps me up, reaching forward.

If I could just stop to let it catch up.

Give Me Pause

So often in my day at work I scramble from one issue to the next. I find myself being pulled from a tough negotiation with a vendor to the next second (literally) talking to a family about their child's prognosis. This emotional gymnastics often leaves me wishing for a pause. A moment to breathe. A break. A long vacation to restore my energy, my drive, and most of all my patience and caring. Today I received a moment that gave me pause, but not in the form I had expected.

Most days I am a beacon of hope, always with a smile and talking about how so many of our kids leave here getting better. Today a photo album of past guests was placed in front of me. As I looked through the first few pages, my eyes stopped on a young man that I had met. (Often I only get to meet parents and siblings.) I wondered to myself when he was going to return as they had made frequent visits. Then I remembered that he unexpectedly died last year. He wouldn't be back. I had to stop looking through the album.

This could be depressing, this could leave me numb for the rest of the day. Instead, it gave me pause. Made me stop for a moment and remember what we mean to each other and how much each little act of kindness can mean. It's easier to stop, slow down, remember "what's important" when a moment like this comes your way.

I could still cry though. Inside I say a little thank you to this young man, a little, you are missed and your short life made a difference in the fabric of the universe. Your absence is noticed.

Water For Tea

Steep
Endurance
Water

My collage tells you this. Tells you there are many layers; stories behind people, behind mountains.
Simple things, simple times, complex relationships.
Long journeys.
Water

Pulling colors, smells, essences
From little pieces of who we are.

You are the water.

Levied

Pregnant rivers
waiting to breach
earthen mounds.

Hope and Humor

Waiting for tea water to boil in the early morning, I hear stories of an 8 year old who just lost a third of her lung to cancer. The doctor said she wouldn't be running any marathons soon. Dad laughs that he didn't say "ever." He shares that a coworker is running a marathon for her. Dad tells me they were told she has two years to live at one point. He was devastated when she asked if she could work here when she grows up. Then he sighs with relief as he says, "Now let's get her an application." He believes she will be fine, she has a future and she is one tough cookie.

This is what I have learned here in six and a half years. If I can have learned only one thing it is the most important. You can get through anything with hope and humor. Anything.