chilly weatherwalk

March 25th, 2010 Comments Off

this weather makes me walk
like a bird with an injured wing
pulled in at the joint to conserve energy

my long beak-nose catches the wind first
and chills to the touch.
“what’s with the rednose?” he says
“oh, just something I’m trying on.”


March 24th, 2010 Comments Off

i am absolutely in love with this bike.  isn’t she gorgeous?

montana, 8.26.09

March 20th, 2010 Comments Off

You and I—we—are of the earth.
We roll in the dust, dipping and diving as swallows.
Perhaps too violently, or maybe you have been ravaged by strangers.
Your hills bleed, and I bleed too.
You hush my cries—
that this moment, this silence, may be imprinted on my mind.
Your sweetness lingers on my tongue, in my nostrils.
And long after your body has burned,
the memory of you will be seared across my skin.

home again, home again

March 18th, 2010 Comments Off

My home-going coincided with the spring migration of geese, all congregating busily in flooded fields and swollen ponds.  ”How is your garden? Where’s your daughter living now? Didn’t your son just get married?”  They catch up on life, chattering loudly, finding community once again.  I, too, come back to my family after so long, to make up for time lost.  The last time I saw these faces (if they are in fact the same faces), I still had the face of a child.  We kids bickered, and she, who could never negotiate for her own children, kept the peace.

Now as we sat, years later, I was not sure that this was the same woman before me. Her slight frame hid the dominating woman I remembered.  I suppose my grown body hid the child she remembered. “You’ve changed so much!” she said. Understatement.  And so we sat.  She struggled to find the right word, stuttering and pausing before finally giving up.  I suggested we take a picture.  Afterwards, more stuttering and pausing.  The others talked while she listened.  Soon, she and I were both listening.  As we listened, our eyes met and I saw what she was struggling to say.  An absent mind, at times, but perhaps that was not new.  No, more than absence was intense presence and depth of feeling.  Her regimen of 27 pills per day could not mask the intensity.  And so we gazed.  We sat and we gazed…catching up on lost years while others talked in the background.

And just like that, I realized I was home.

Where am I?

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