prayer for a future tide

hollows show with stars

in sequence all these years 

paralyzed only by the possibility

of time... if this world were mine

*

we'd follow the ripples on the path 

to where we widen daily treads

into the light, though the trail 

turns water as salty as tears  

*

the sound of the sea is

so close to the humming om 

of planets... of eternity folding--

dissolving all we can ever know... 

*

reversing presents, lining calendar

days in black, and yet bringing

the urgent surf of every day 

where we learn to love

__________
Pic: Nu's photo of Amma, Chelli, and me. I love that that there are complimentary wheelchairs at most museums. 

sequence

the fireflies are out          summer visitors          their joyful            light        indirect          without accumulation            a shorthand          lighting up the continuum      they are          ghostwords           winking like secrets          and           adrift as passwords     unburdened by footprints    play         stay    and hold        even as       our dimensions fold

__________________________      

Note: I was horrified by the discussion of whether we would be the last generation to see fireflies. Say it ain't so! 

(Also see Nance for the titles's connection to "sequins.")

Pic: Tiny turtle making its way up a rock on the Red Cedar. I seem to have one of these pictures every year... I'm fascinated by their progress.

escape from injustice and war

Pic: Nu's photo of Max and me. I want to do only escapist things like read and snuggle and gaze into puppies' eyes forever and ever.

Happy SolsticeWeekend! 

Happy Free Mahmoud Khalil Day! 

I don't want to think about the Supreme Court's decision to ban gender affirming care to minors. I don't want to think about how the U.S. has bombed Iran... and if that means we're in another war now.

There are many poems about war. Here's Mahmoud Darwish's:

The war will end

The leaders will shake hands

The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son

The girl will wait for her beloved husband

And those children will wait for their hero father

I don’t know who sold our homeland

But I saw who paid the price

It's quite cis-het normative, isn't it? I didn't remember that about the poem... 

summer sadness

all my grandparents are dead

 all of them now live with me

and  I am as tired as they are

calibrating so many endings

sadness settles--a misreading

a waiting whimpers in veins

possibilities turn impossible 

like feelings I try not to feel 

 I've told myself: I've no right

things are good, it's summer

even skies are on my side &

sunshine is...  the  purest kiss

 but I go full sol  to soulful 

to the solstice of  solipsism 

I  know  I... cannot fly, yet

mindlessly look for wings

_________________

Pic: Out with Max and Huck early in the morning. The dogwood friends gave me for my birthday is in full bloom this week. L said she'd picked out a Kousa, because it is a late bloomer like me. She really gets me :).

ode to my summer

the tree golden in early summer                a leafy umbilicus into light                summer weeks stall forever                nothing happens day after day                until you forget what you've forgotten                and in this shaded solitude                the soft echoes of omniscience              even when I can't hear them                I can't stop listening

________________

Pic: Empty nest! The baby birds have flown!

 

anticipatory story

my mother is old, my father older

the hopes in my heart older too 

I will them to come back daily

the way every day shows

the way every day shows us

loved ones and love come and go 

they go where? are gone how?

go ahead and tell me, though

I won't want to know

really won't want to know

how details rip truth like velcro

float in water like a miracle

or a corpse or an insect

I think it's a window

and like a window

in each story where we're still alive 

it is not the vertigo of certainty

telling the usual ways of love

at times, mourning knows

only mourning knows

____________________

Pic: Father's Day blooper reel. Big A's tee says "Doodfather" because he's a very indulgent dog (goldendoodle) dad. Max and Huck just couldn't stay still. I talked to my dad early in the morning... I miss him a bit extra because he's not up for (is just too old for) 24-hour travel and is not coming later this month with my mom and sis. 

what we have here

(here) is the door I promised, my darling

the moon growing full with welcome

late in the evening as our day turns

it is holy to need someone so

(so) scrutiny doesn't concern us anymore

our breath weakening in the breaks

like a broken stone collecting 

freedom, opening

(opening) trust deep as the release of cicadas 

from earth--their rising a resurrection

from the profound time of dreams

and dirt and promise

_____________

Pic: It's the one month of the year our rhododendron is in bloom; I'm in awe every time I glimpse it.

three updates and three book-ish developments

1) Just wanted to say Nu's not in trouble for the other night (and neither am I). At this point, letting me know where they plan to be is more about information than permission. It's just been such a whirlwind of sociality since graduation, I flounder at keeping track. 

2) As of today, little puppy Lego is still available. I thought today (Boss Day!) would be decision day, but Big A asked what if Max and Lego (who will be Max's size when full grown) gang up on Huck who is tiny and old--that is giving me pause. Also, should I be taking all the puppies? I feel a bit greedy like the Melissa McCarthy character in Bridesmaids. (But then look how happy she looks!)

3) My mom and sis are coming at the end of the month!!! Or at least we have tickets, so that's progress.
_____________

1) My book was done. But I now have to make some serious edits because it's about trans politics, and the last few months have changed the landscape of trans rights significantly. The illustrator came through with some amazing work this week, and that is giving me the boost I need to complete this task.

2) I started the year wanting to get out a chapbook of poetry, and have made absolutely no progress. I have not even made any moves or submitted to any journals or anthologies. It's June. I should start. I'm glad it's summer and have some time to devote to this project.

3) Pic: Contributor copies of a poetry anthology I have a few poems in arrived today. Right now, it's available on Amazon, but I'm avoiding that site. It should be available directly from the press soon. All the poems in this anthology started here on the blog--most have undergone massive revisions except the one I wrote for Nu, which shows up with minor tweaks.

the embrace of trees

for Nance
there are so few ceremonies 
in absence 
I fall asleep in this shade and know
this is no mean season
it is a season of faith, of falling haptic
and helpless into hope
knowing we'll not run out of time
or light until nine or ten, 
so there is time to see the world as entry
...as a luminous archive
to take turns at impossible gifts, escapes, 
and knowing 

that even if we haven't seen gods by now
we've surely seen angels

________________________

Note: The title comes from Nance's comment yesterday. I was a bit dismayed the poem came out with some religious motifs as Nance is agnostic, but I comforted myself by reminding myself that I know she believes in Nature.

Pic: The Red Cedar through the trees on my first long walk of June.

summer rain

as if geography is destiny

leaves turn miscellaneous 

in our anthology of trees

just gentling into time

all we can grasp for now 

is this softness between us 

a metaphor for unexpected  

meaning--as if we invented it

_______________________

Pic: I didn't check my work, but it has been nearly a month since I walked by the river. I took a long walk today, and it felt SO good.

Ughs <--> Ohs

The NWSA proposal EM and I submitted together didn't get accepted, but the one I submitted by myself did. I wanted to go with her!

I ran out of moisturizer while traveling with the kids and sampled Nu's Vanicream, and it's a dream. It may be the one thing Miranda July got right in All Fours. (That and the bit about dogs.)

I got my travel course evals--high marks, but very few comments. It would have been nice if some of the kind things people wrote in cards and emails were in the course evals--I'm up for assessment the year after next.

I got a copy of American Dirt by Jeanine Cummings (from a Goodwill) because a student (Hi, CW!) wanted to work on it and am reading it now. I expected to hate every minute of its appropriative voice... but have to say it's quite respectful and suspenseful.

A poetry anthology I have some poems in is now on Amazon and getting promoted heavily by the editors... and I'm worried my mom might see. I know she'll not like that I wrote about some of those topics.  

Pic: I watched this frog swim up to the little solar fountain like they were a kid in summer camp swimming up to the buoy in the middle of the lake. Their name is Popchyk. (Big A is reading The Goldfinch on my recommendation and we talk about the puppy more than any other character.)

"when the sky looks back at you"

Today was a free day in New Jersey, where we lived two decades ago. It doesn't look changed at all and I wish there was more time to go into NYC. I started messaging old friends for hanging out earlier in the week, and many were away for the long weekend, but I ended up setting up little dates with some.

But first breakfast with Daria! The conversation was nonstop, tripping over the many, many things we have in common--teaching, growing up in a different country, poetry... And things we don't--like Daria's love for camping. I loved how she described the night sky looking back at her when she is in her tent so much, it became the title of this post. Both Daria and I are spare writers--we rarely have posts that are pages long--but we chatted and laughed our way through 2-3 hours so easily. I really, really, really hope to meet Daria again. Maybe in Michigan? The Midwest? 

Another highlight was meeting PRS after years--we go back decades and she is likely the brainiest person I know and I love her so much. She is uncompromisingly honest, so when she says she is proud of me for building a home where my kids can chart "their comfort journeys home to themselves," it is something to truly treasure. She does not hesitate on calling me on my nonsense, and once I swallow my initial defensive responses, I can see where I can do better. PRS is writing full-time now--when we first met, she was doing something her parents wanted her to. I am so ready to see her long-form work in print. 

Pic: Beautiful Daria gave me this exqusite edition of Anna Akhmatova's poetry that I will treasure forever.

this is about everything

the world is different after rain 
its marrows open, singing, astonished

outlined in reflections and wet mirages

I mark myself in nothing now 

in the endless movement of trembling

meeting no resistance, passing through

only freckled with the dailiness 

of living and knowing we can wake up

like flowers opening their bright mouths

_________________

Pic: At and Nu surprised me with a M.U.M. (MakeUp Mother's Day) today. Their card was an "In Sympathy" card for being their mom. They think they're so ironic and funny. [eyeroll] After they finished laughing at their joke, we had a wonderful time raiding my closet for wedding attire to wear this weekend and picking out jewelry--with my kids clowning all the while. Then a leisurely lunch of sesame noodles (I'd already made that for dinner, I didn't know we were celebrating today) while watching Laapataa Ladies, until it was time to head off to various meetings and appointments. It was too rainy to do our usual Mother's Day gardening, but I get three days of travel with these loves later this week, so I'm sure there'll be plenty of opportunities to maximize our time. 

the world after

I can start again tomorrow
despite how much I don't 
like becoming divided
despite how much 
I... shouldn't be

find me there

there's no reason for sorrow 
in a  day  still  so young 
when old  letters catch 

me time traveling... I

wonder who holds 

your empty hand 

_____________________

Pic: Max and Huck fresh from the groomer, watching me fetch myself a cup of tea to drink in the tea garden, which is very jungly at this point. ALSO!! I didn't mean to imply the fam neglected my plants while I was gone. The zillion plants and watering them are my thing. I've never asked Big A or the kids to do it because it takes at least two hours (a week) and that's a lot. If I make the pots a bit swampy before I leave, they can usually wait two weeks. As you can see, the begonias, geraniums, and jasmines (heroes all!) are blooming.

traveling (like) light

 

here, on our way

our connections belonging

only to ourselves 

history's hooks dangling

 carrying instructions

treading eternally in travel

flighty and watery 

brave before memory

yet imagining every thing...

foreign for moments

knowing our effects are light 

yet baggage enough 

for other people to live out 

of them for a lifetime

___________________________ 

Pic 1: Like I did last time, I got everyone identical scarves to loop onto our backpacks so we can ID each other easily. (My pic.)

Pic 2: I'm so grateful for this community of eager learners. They were willing to construct and present on their keywords and concepts in the airport on our long layover. (Pic by our travel chaperone.)

I'm there

let's not keep fighting           

                              the same wars         

their adjectives          

                           and geographies   

are only those of mortality          

                          speak surrender          

                          sweet surrender          

I don't think we get to escape          

                       anymore than clouds

                       can keep their shape          

the victory is that we were          

                  and sometimes 

we were together

______________________________

Pic: Sunrise with Max. As I get ready to leave for the U.K. for two weeks while vaguely worrying about being allowed to return, I think this is one of the many moments I will miss while I'm away. Not unrelatedly, I am so happy that Mohsen Mahdawi has been released. I listened to this interview he gave the day before, while he was still detained, and loved it so much I shared it on family chat. It's worth the ten-minute listen.

no doubt, no learning

no doubt, no learning, the guru says
these days flicker across your face
the sun dismantles every silence
and hangs up a chorus of desires 

made of bruises and credulousness 

a necklace of words around your throat

*

you don't even know that you're happy 
crying for something you can't recall

discovering circles of people

the drowned sounds of places

the burning earth, the world we made 
where everything can be turned into song 

________

Pic: The Red Cedar on my way back from breakfast yesterday. I love how this is from the bridge right in the center of the city and reportedly the most dangerous traffic intersection. But if I look away to my right, all is calm. 

he stands there

he stands there as if

 the most popular boy in pre-K 

the other kids clustered around
exclaiming at his new clothes

           that's my old T-shirt said one

           my old rain boots said another

           those pants will make you itch

          ask me how I know, said the wag 

he stands there dull

the shape of shame in his mouth

pushing up the smile that wants 

to droop, thinking up a comeback  

           in years to come he'll be bemused

           that his kids aim to shop vintage

           and give clothes away seasonally

           that his wife wants to thrift... and

he stands there, still

when she invites him to come 

lifted like a ship in a calm harbor

surprised he finds welcome in this

_________________

Pic: A magnolia tree in full bloom. (On a walk with L.)

a checklist for the seasons: speech & passage, change & endurance

 the diagnosis is that its only nostalgia

the prescription is just talk

so I try twice a day to mimic my elders

misinterpreting decades

to all these openly yawning windows  

and wait patiently

as words fall into them... no one gets hurt

while beating time

although I thought of money as paperwork

all these years, I find

they're artificial leaves falling sullenly

no matter the season

so there's no need to hold me or name me 

I write to you against all odds

and wonder how we don't cry all the time

sometimes, I am so proud of us

-----------------------------

Pic: StephLove asked what the Muppets-themed seder was like. There was an enactment of the Passover story in one of the M's currently empty raised gardening beds with puppets. It featured Kermit as Moses, a Pirate as the Pharaoh and children had paper bags to throw locusts, lice, and pestilence when their cues came up. It was an inspired production and so much fun! And the weather was just perfect for all of it. 

(Mis)interpretations

* Central Michigan University, about 20 minutes north of us, discovered during a random check that several of their international students had their visas revoked and thus their legal residency terminated without notifications to the university or the students. I don't think this is what "Land of the Free" means.

* Ms. Rachel, the YouTube toddler entertainer, who has been compared to Mr. Rogers, shared UN reports of malnourished children in Gaza and started fundraising for Save the Children... and is being accused of being Hamas with calls for the Attorney General to investigate her for "anti-semitism." That term keeps being used incorrectly. Opposition to Israel is not anti-semitism, as Peter Beinart said recently. 

*Nu's class was scheduled to take a senior trip to the zoo today. All week long, in anticipation, we've been pretending that we understood "going to the zoo" to mean that Nu was going to be a zoo exhibit. Our jokes are really old over here. 

Pic: Nu's pic of the tiger at the zoo. Once upon a time, William Blake's "Tyger, Tyger burning bright" might have looped through my head. These days, I more likely to remember the six-year-old's poem so bright and clear it just cannot be misinterpreted: 

"The tiger

He destroyed his cage

Yes

YES

The tiger is out"