a lack of an ending

When Nance recommended May We Feed the King, of course I got it right away, and then of course, I spent a lot of the book wondering if this is why Nance had recommended it to me. There's a part where the narrator talks about how people lose patience for grief after a year, and I was fairly certain that was one of the reasons.

But also it is so rich. The sumptuousness of the language is so perfect for the time period and the archival recreation it describes. 

There is a lack of ending in this poetic novel that I feel is me right now... especially today, which seems to be all about waiting for the future.

_______

Pic: A hazy, golden path ahead...
 

sanctuary

skies always open

they haven't quit in this warm October

their voice in an inaudible present 

clouds are normal

it is wisdom that whimpers, collapses

naming days, trauma, traditions

trees are informal

stopping by, breeze-ruffled, reminding 

me of the hard ringing in my heart 

stars are waiting

like bits of every song you ever knew

not young, not old... eternal 

_____________

Pic: Walking home by myself; feeling sheltered.

all there is

gone as sudden as sound

lost

thoughts and things weep

secret

the debris of years reach  

stretch

out the empty logic of loss 

ruin

time's understudy at the door

______

Pic: A balancing act on the Red Cedar River.

after fall

It's rich irony then that I feel like a ghost

alive, haunting every hang of time 

asking, if is this all there is

the bruise of the moment

the body sinking down

anchoring absolutely

nothing but me

this is a story I actually don't want to tell 

I'd rather retract into porous sleep 

or silence--providently waiting 

just past the gate the miracle

or watching and loving 

all I ever had to do

was show up

_________________________

Pic: I could barely believe that the orange balls in the dirt were pumpkins... Where are the vines? Why am I such a city bumpkin?
 

caught

A poem should be motionless in time   

As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases

Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,   

Memory by memory the mind—

___________

Some of my favorite lines from Archibald Macleish's "Ars Poetica"

covering

I wore my best clothes to your funeral

I know I won't ever wear them again

nor can I give them away

they are locked to me 

as I wish you were

still  

 

Candide/Candied

"Anyone who can make you believe absurdities 

can make you commit atrocities.” Voltaire

imagine this tree 

knows our names

whispers it back 

in a few  weeks

in falling leaves

such  absurdities 

uncertain atrocities

encased in amber

the rain brings messages

you are beautiful the world is young
the world is young and you are beautiful

a mother on this side, a daughter on the other

it's the rule of this world: days capped by night 

_____________

Pic Sanford Woods... it's that amber time of the year!

fall's well

I have dreamed the walls of my heart

my lunatic mouth sucking at words

sitting inside and beside thoughts

the chest, the breast, the heart

the heartbeat of my mother

it is considered natural

here no one notices

________

Pic: Somewhere on Farm Road, a random fruiting tree.

waking up to try again

YO/LO,  if life is short then 

why are all our stories long

I'm still... and  maybe will 

always be writing our story 

this journey now so timeworn 

one I've tarried on for too long

it seems I must have forgotten 

where I was meant to be going

__________

Pic: Red Cedar walk with BigA

 

“I write to find out what I think about something.” Anne Carson!

Congrats to the amazing Anne Carson! I love this one:

O Small Sad Ecstasy of Love

I like being with you all night with closed eyes.

What luck—here you are

coming

along the stars!

I did a road trip

all over my mind and heart

and

there you were

kneeling by the roadside

with your little toolkit

fixing something.

Give me a world, you have taken the world I was.

____________

Pic: The woods by the Bike path by myself.

grief ghazal

there is no finish line

I try to remember this 

there is no finish line to grief 

I wake from a dream 

knowing my heart is broken 

from love as much as grief

and knowing that everyone 

writes poems of half formed truth

in love or from grief 

can my heart hold more love

now it has broken? I say

"my" heart and trace grief

knowing it is so full of you 

_____________________

Pic: Red Cedar Rapids.

mothers are places

mothers are places

we can never go back to 

places we carry at our core 

open me, say hello

you'll meet my mother

she was right here all along 

"I bequeath myself"

 from Walt Whitman

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,

Missing me one place search another,

I stop somewhere waiting for you.

__________________

Pic: The Maple River (Nu's photo from the car). I look for Amma everywhere... there's comfort in knowing I have seen and felt her even if I did not recognize her...

Finale

by Pablo Neruda

...here or there,
gazing off,
twisting my spine,
bleeding true blood,
perhaps I awaken
or am lost, sleeping:
hospital beds,
foreign windows,
white uniforms of the silent walkers,
the clumsiness of feet.
And then, these journeys
and my sea of renewal:
your head on the pillow,
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,
over my earth.
It was beautiful to live
when you lived!

______________

Pic: Big A, Max, and Huckie are working out/working on bikes in the basement.

proxy-mity

now is for understanding 

these things of today 
if they ricochet

the things of tomorrow
merely play at 

pilgrimage 

in concessions unexamined 

a syllabus of my grief

in the way

the assignment compulsory 
each option an arsenal 

regret every rule

she does not take me with her

but I carry her everywhere

a sort of possession 

___________________

Pic: A hike through Central Park South after a trip to the Farmers' Market with Big A. Although this looks woodsy, all this is right in the middle of town, and Big A made me laugh by pointing out that our usual movie theater was visible on our left.

crossing

in that room I have never left

this body drifts away from me

I've  mislaid an empty  head

crowds have taken its words

lines  shudder unprofitably

--because all are weeping--

you can tell how it ended 

though it won't ever end 

I learn to regret  the future

not  the  inconsistent  pasts

of the anticipated machinery 

I'm now at liberty to recite 

_______________________________________

Pic: Floating Dale Chihuly orbs at Meijer Sculpture Gardens in Grand Rapids. (Trip with Cousin P this week.)

present

these evenings: concerts, movies, friends

open beach, live oaks, flowers spilling

bells with no alarms

the cherry tree dropping shade to make 

a room, bowing to the fullness 

and newness of moons

the rain and incense of the morning

to awaken with earnest relief 

to know--it's still summer

 

though should you let the faucet run 

long enough, a revolutionary 

shock of cold water 

pulled well deep from inside earth

--as if from memory, reminds you 

of the tablet of days

the year's cool capsule of seasons

 ricocheting, recalling summer

as late blooming laughter

Pic: From the A$AP Rocky concert, live helicopter and all, 7/8 in Detroit. 

I had to cram the setlist the day of, because I wasn't familiar with most of his work.

memoriam

I feel like          I will always be looking for you          don't know where to look for you          but I know every word           to your favorite song          I look at my body with some hesitation          but your favorite cake is now mine          at least these things will live happily ever after          it's an odd game, the going--          to be here in the brain's chorus and words          and so gone from the world

__________________

Pic: I haven't been to UU on Sundays since Scout (because sitting in silence makes me think of him and I prefer not to cry in public). But RDC, where I've been volunteering this summer, meets in the UU building. It was a "blast from the past" (as the family chat termed it) to see all our badges still sitting up there on the carousel.

because I was raised by her

today I went back to dying

to falling down in places... 

in pieces, my eyes pitching

bones separate like solitude 

tears won't ask me questions

(they have seen inside me)

just don't call me to witness

as I travel to how I used to be

________________

Note: Inevitable comparisons with last year this time when I was so excited for my mom and sis to visit. My mom had already started her shenanigans, much to my delight.

Pic: Our water lily bloomed! (Not allowed to talk about algae right now.)