wind

(outside my window polar
tempest you beat
against the pane
while i in comfort
and coze need only to
shift layers of 
blankets to insulate
against the bitter
night chill)

i drift off loving the howl
     that shakes the holding-on dead leaves free
     that unearths roots not too-deeply rooted
     that karate-chop pummels whole limbs from trunks

oh my heart do not hide safe when
the wild wind beckons

meet its power
     be uprooted and
     blown naked
     welcoming newness as
     it is released

guess

i slide my palm
(unaware but not
disinterested)
into the slit of
threadbare denim
over a smooth
angle of hipbone
toward the deep
corner of pocket
where you  (a foreign
coin gathering
my heat) nestle

my fingers seek
your contour and
edges (my heart 
needs refuge far
away from here)

i settle and 
retract my hand
but you (unsettled)
you flee and 
flip through the
air

(no matter how familiar
the edges i never can
guess which side will
land upright to the sky)

heads or tails is
anyones guess

one word 2014: joy

the drama of bearing
such a gift as joy is first
when it sprung from my heart
and out of my lips i could
not believe it was true

then i realized that the
gift was not in the holding of
joy in my hands but in
the emptying of those hands of
things that drown out joy

     (things that prevent joy from
      penetrating this intensity of
      life i have been living)

joy comes from the remembrance of
past goodness surviving and made
true made right made whole even if
it still seems broken on the outside
to those who dont really know
what they are looking at

joy is learning to look
deep into the sense of peace and
belonging that only comes with 
healing that is according to the
truth and peace that surpasses
understanding

when joy is sparked the gift
is in the taking off of
the mask so that it will
flow through me and to you
and to whomever else is longing
for it too

poetry at work

I love words.  I love writing and singing and conversation.  I love my vocation as a speech-language pathologist, and I really love poetry.  Reading AND writing it. Books all over my house and blue roller pens and pads of words scattered all over the place.

I love working with the bodies of the children in my care, and coaxing, shaping, weaving and listening to sound and thought as it emerges from very very deep places.  Places of great suffering but also places of great joy.  Places of great challenge but also places of great wisdom.

On behalf of the work done here today by ALL of the children who came through the doors, and the moms, dads the therapists who stood with them, ENJOY!

ysa so pretty you are my
poetry at work

you sing a sonnet
a love song
through the stars 
in your eyes the same
as the sky at night
and its song of heaven

you shake up some free verse
a radical rant
with brain waves seizing

      we dont understand the colors or
      the way you 
             s  p a    ce   y  o u   r  b  rea  t  h
      (we wish it metered and
       regular but you always come back)

you giggle a couplet
a sweet and rhyming banter
in your hugs and 
great big kisses

our words daily thunder 
around and over and past you
too quickly for response but
the a surprise
an anthem in your YES
      (or maybe a funny GAH
                  a silly cat in the
       restaurant where you had lunch)

without the boundaries of words
every day ysa you are my
poetry at work

To learn more about Ysa and her family's journey with Rett Syndrome, click on the link below:

http://girls.girlpower2cure.org/ysa

transition

reluctant to
surrender one
blazing leaf
holds fast
to a branch

wind can rustle
it one day
more in a
transition
condition of
beauty that will
not be hurried

the joyful
explosion of
color is
the journey to
its winter

longshadows

w i t h  a  s i l e n t

sinking

g a z e  y o u r  e y e s

cast

l o n g s h a d o w s

behind

m e  a  s e p t e m b e r

sun

s e t t i n g  b e t w e e n

the

s t e a d f a s t  t r e e s

slamming door

just because you
blame me doesnt
mean its my
            fault
her whisper resonates
from the corner (back
to her heart)
            where
she is placed to
think about what
it is she has
            (or
has not)
done