renewal and respair

you take my hand

hold my body like a prayer

in your hands

in your hands
your kind, capable hands

I arrive alive

_____________________

Pic: This came from Rebecca Solnit's feed, a good reminder of the steady work of respair. 

I'm so grateful for my family who are so good at putting me back together.

heart with the old

I just want to say yes            somewhere, I want 

since we must begin             to watch this again:                            

seeing my problem              through lit windows

and your proof                     where we're made 

                                                                                  without our own consent

                                                                                  like the worst bargain   

__________________________________________________________

Note: I liked writing and reading these couplets in columns, rows, and just mixing it up even diagonally. Somehow it seems to work as long as it ends up where we're born without our consent!

Pics: Last year this calendar lived on my desk at work and brought me joy all year long. Each jar-shaped month was topped by a cheery sprig of flowers and as I shuffled the cards in the bamboo holder from month to month, the composition of the bouquet changed over the year. I was sad about having to throw it out. But I didn't have to throw it out. I cut off the calendar part of the cards and now it lives on as an arrangement of flowers. Perhaps I could add a small picture of Scout to it.

Bending Meaning: Haiku, P.F.Chang, and "Peelings"

I'll never get used to hearing Big A talking on the phone to his colleagues and casually asking them to send him a haiku. Haiku is merely the hospital's internal secure messaging system, but it nevertheless sounds so charming. Although at other times I'm a bit stern and feel like if they're going to appropriate poetic terminology, they better be structuring their medical notes 5/7/5, you know?

*

Last year, Big A had a recurrent dream where Scout was accompanying him to a bunch of classes at Kalamazoo, his old undergraduate campus. In one dream, it was a poetry class where the instructor had displayed some of their published works on the desk at the front of the class. A can't remember the titles, but the poet's name was P.F. Chang--like the Asian restaurant chain. I wonder if Big A was thinking of Victoria Chang but was also a bit hungry?

*

I've been hearing this catchy Telugu film song on a number of reels and wanted to download it for my playlist. The song is about how the heroine is plagued by carnal feelings for the hero--"vochundai feelings-su" (I get these feelings). So I searched "Feelings" on I-Tunes, and nope, nothing. Turns out it's spelled "Peelings"--all the better to express the way it might be pronounced with emphasis in Telugu, I guess? Not really a word with a sultry vibe for me, however--it makes me think of dinner prep... or a skin condition.

Pic: The Red Cedar right behind L's house. From another walk this week. 

in a time before this one

I had just enough left over 

for flowers

~distant and beautiful as frescoes~

or some oranges 

~contained and remote as moons~

I could not choose between

          them then 

I had no one to ask 

          and also

no one to answer to

so bright and sonorous

was my ~solitude~

so replaceable and bold

my ~independence~

_____________

Pic: I thought it was cool how the Red Cedar river had flooded and frozen into a pane over autumn leaves here. (Seen on a  walk with L through the woods yesterday.)

bookends

I woke up to see that a writer friend had tagged me in her exhortation to read more books in 2025 because she'd used a picture of our Little Free Library. And of course the week has been full of various enjoyable year-end roundups of reading lists. Then Lisa wondered about my top books of 2024... The thing is, I don't have a digital record of my reading. Reading is what I've always loved doing but also kind of my work work. So it never made sense (for me) to quantify my reading by hours/pages/titles. When I read for pleasure, like other things I do for pleasure, I tend to do it rather whimsically and for as long--or as little--as I want to. It's not very efficient. But that feels perfect to me.

Lisa's question made me curious, though. So I went to check on my scribbly physical planner, where I usually note what I'm reading "for fun" to compile this top-12. (I think these titles are a mix of 2023 and 2024 and are in no particular order.)

Ta-Nehisi Coates, The Message; Catherine Newman, Sandwich; Paul Murray, The Bee Sting; Percival Everett, James; Kaveh Akbar, Martyr!; Sally Rooney, Intermezzo; Fady Joudah, […]; Tony Tulathimutte, Rejection; Emma Cline, The Guest; Yiyun Li, Wednesday’s Child: Stories; Tania James, Loot; Elliot Page, Pageboy: A Memoir; Teju Cole, Tremor. (Fun fact: Teju Cole used to comment on this blog a very long time ago.)

Pic: OM's Facebook Reel of our Little Free Library. I did a quick search, and this is the first picture of it in the snow, I think. I love that our neighborhood keeps it so well stocked. It used to be all my responsibility in the other place where we had it from 2012-2016.

new year thoughts

I finally finished the paper proposal based on disability in Jhumpa Lahiri's Roman Stories I've been embroidering in my head for a while. It's going to two conferences. I don't know if I can actually travel to both of them--but those are bridges for later.

*

Big A got a holiday bonus and I got to give away lots of it--most of it to PAMA and PCRF. But we dug up some more for Lansing organizations like the Refugee Development Center, our local queer community space--Salus Center,  and Nation Outside a Michigan-based advocacy group led by the formerly incarcerated. 

*

I started a poem (and then ran out of steam): 

accidents constellate our past

hope peoples our future

we need imagination

to survive

*

I survived 2024. I spoke up, and spoke my truth no matter how small my voice started or how repetitive I thought I would sound.

And I'm grateful for everyone who listened even when I didn't say the right thing or say things the right way. I hope 2025 lets me walk gently on this Earth in solidarity with other living beings.

*

And now, as Rilke says, we get to welcome the New Year "Full of things that have never been.” Happy New Year!

Pic: Nu was hosting some friends for NYE, so Big A and I took a walk to the rooftop bar downtown. This party was loud, but the music and drinks were strong. I thought I was getting a photo of the fireworks on the skyline, but I think I got one of the the first emergency vehicle of 2025 instead. It reminded me a bit of NYEs past in NYC and Chennai as we walked past choruses of people wishing us a happy new year on our way home.

life is for everyone

oh friend, pain is trying
I so regret all  the things 

I didn't do with this body

in all its many instances 

and interruptions of love

to how my mother calls me

Kanna, my eye, and claims 

she loves both  her children

the same--how can I choose

between either eye--she'll ask
 
how sentimental  these stories

we tell ourselves, despite haste,

the blade clenched to scapegoat 

joy, awe--spliced by anxiety as

faithful as any real physical law

Oh friend, in  the heart  shapes

of our language, I hear how we

are larger  than  you, than  me, 

how survival means we live... 

not forgetting what we live for

_______________________

Note: On our walk today, Big A talked about his swollen, arthritic finger joint and it reminded me of when Lisa had posted a picture of her RA flare and broke my heart when she noted how it hurt when she held hands with her youngest because he's too young to know not to hold "too hard." And that got me thinking of friends and family who must consider/monitor/battle health conditions and how we all do our best with the bodies we've accrued over the decades. But also how the body is a stand-in for "more." I loved this article on how Kindness improves our health.  

Pic: KM and JB's wonderful collection of menorahs at their Hanukkah party. I wish I'd gotten a picture when they were magnificently lit up.

in the end if there is no end

I meant  to write  about sunlit Delphi,  the old gods secret in the shadows

but here in Michigan, the old  gods are past, and the sky does what it does 

whatever we dream will be better than this, better than here, better than now

I set out a place for my guru to sit in, laid out offerings of flowers and fruit

the grit of river sand, screams from my childbirths, and grief from our fights

I never knew the words to prayer, or I've forgotten, yet wait for fortune to fall 

for lives are libraries of restored light: take all you want, we're still returned here

 our words, oceans bending to belong in every mouth; other words lie under ours

 could this be our quiet power, our godly levitation--loving and freeing at once?

_____________________

Note: I know what I want the last line to do, but it's not doing it right yet... I'll keep fiddling. 

Pic: The Red Cedar this afternoon--icy, grey, and deserted. The snow has receded, temperatures are climbing, and everything seems wet, grimy, and sodden. 

from the other side of Christmas

I'm not sure how it happened, but when Nu came down for Christmas--and while I was still listening to carols and checking on the Christmas breakfast pudding--Big A decided to tell them how much baking soda you'd need to mix with cocaine to make crack. 

But the rest of Christmas was more traditional (for us, anyway). Big A was off Thanksgiving this year, so he's working over Christmas--this is the standard E.R. scheduling tradeoff. But the kids have learned to accommodate celebrations around his schedule over the years. I started to wake the kids up when A was on his way home from work after his night shift so when he got home and decompressed for a bit, we could go to cider, stockings, presents, and then Christmas pudding brunch, lazing around, snuggles, napping, movies, biriyani, and so on.

It kind of felt like the nicest Christmas in a few years. The kids have had a couple of rocky years recently, but we're on the other side of that now one way or the other. It's also our second year of Christmas without Scout--no one approaches his level of enthusiasm for Christmas, which will always be bittersweet. 

I put LifeStraws in everyone's stockings including my own (during an anxiety-prone week is my guess). I'd wrapped everyone's presents long before I left for Greece. That was a while ago and I lowkey forgot some of the details, so I was nicely surprised as people opened their presents too. Ha. As for myself, my massage budget has been replenished, and I've been promised a trip to the Grand Canyon in October! I'd mentioned to Big A that I had poetry accepted to three anthologies this year and that I'd like to maybe get a book of poetry out into the world in the coming year--and I got a stack of autographed books of poetry including Mosab Abu Toha's for inspiration. That was the sweetest present.

Pic: Nu being a silly Christmas elf, and all of their siblings--Max, Huck, At--looking at them adoringly. There's a sliver of Big A still in scrubs in the corner and the clutter of opened and unopened presents all around them. 

P.S. In the comments to yesterday's post, Nance used the term "sanitation worker." I'm not sure if it was intended as a gentle correction, but it worked as one. It immediately sounded like a more courteous term, and when I looked up how the relevant union refered to themselves, it seemed the term of choice. So it will be what I will use going forward. As the better Maya said, "Now that I know better, I [can] do better."

when we edit the beast

the sadness scratching out of the dirt of your body             like an animal           is gentle         is a gentleman     who says, after you       

I can only guess what you're after      what you think I'm after    our lives are short       you beg me to remember the risks

but I know we arrived dancing       even before we were born                    and even when dead we may     return with new things to say

____________

Pic: Backyard winter wonderland. I especially love how the snow erases all our landscaping mistakes and covers up our many unfinished projects...

Nu spent yesterday hoping today would NOT be declared a snow day since today was the last day before Christmas break and there were all sorts of fun activities planned at school. 

between the glass of dreams

they say every poem is a ghost story

keeping its secrets, still looking on in 

what I remember is opening the door

knowing this made surprise and sense 

the curious ritual of intuition and touch--

feeling one's way as though blindfolded

seeing everything entire as a visionary

I stay the same; I've never felt this way 

________________________________

Pic: Christmas coziness--our tree has every ornament (that survived our many moves) from the kids' kindergarten ouevre upwards. 

I told Engie we don't do advent calendars. And that was true, but this is Nu's last year at home and I thought I should at least try it? Big A and Nu like jam, so I got the (what I like to think of as the anti-Nazi jam) Bonne Maman calendar, and... they rarely barely remember to open it. I keep reminding them though, because I love those darling little jars when they're empty. And oh, what a sweet Bonne Maman advent calendar proposal story!

the resistance

I am a little nobody

anyway, you're about 

               to tell me how I've sinned

               and now have to pay for it

yet don't we all suffer

for our own pleasure

               wanting to find it or die for it

               an animal snarl between words

so you hold the book

you ask the questions

               I turn the page, I lose my place

               I close the book, can't turn back 

I learn to ignore the door

make it my job to send 

               messages so secret only kisses

               taste the words we're thinking

______

I've done all the things: graded everything, uploaded all the recommendation letters, reviewed all three journal articles that had been languishing in my folder, designed a take-home comparative essay for the Gaza class that feels do-able. (Steph asked if it would be a pass/fail and I'm asking the university admin if that would be ok.) 

________

Pic: Koi in this weather seem miraculous to me... Radiology Gardens. 

fathomless

people meet prayers        meet poems        meet promises        in overcrowded hearts      in empty situations        our fists in the face of fate      of gods        facing clandestine enemies        for survival eaten raw        what feeds us        what do we feed on          whom do we feed         where do we go        how do we go home        go back      go back to where we came from        home, home        home, home on the rage          what parts do we play        how many parts do we break into       spinning like stars        like dancers       like fragments        there is no hiatus to hate        sometimes they never suffer        but they never resurrect        in this life's assignment         I remember their faces      their names       what they used to do        and that they used to be

__________________________
Note: Mahmoud al-Madhoun, chef and co-founder of Gaza Soup Kitchen, who fed over 3000 people a day using whatever supplies he could scrounge up was targeted and killed by a drone strike this week. Three workers with World Central Kitchen were also killed this week (seven were killed earlier this year in April.) In a week where food and feeding people was dominant for most of us, I'm so broken by these daily reports of the targeted deaths of those trying to feed people in this engineered famine. 

a kind (of) bereavement

 

            our old house has new folks 

                       and so... now we are ghosts

              no one sees although we lived

                    here barely 12  years ago 

         morning  mists cling  to  us 

                        ghostly as nights of regret 

             our older selves are yet silent, 

                      uncertain, unknown outside

            we find we forget to exhale

                         are reminded there are no 

             songs in sighs and although

                          not quite death, cold-ness 

                 takes away our breath, leaves 

                          us to mourn a different lack 

                 of warmth despite being back

__________

Note: I felt a bit strange walking on our old street in Yellow Springs early in the day. I think I imagined that a neighbor or two would be out and that we'd have a warm impromptu reunion. I had plans with friends later in the day, but wanted the chance encounter too! Speaking of friends, I'm ordering a few copies of Rebecca Kuder's Dear Inner Critic Workbook to give as Christmas presents. 

____________

Pic: Our descent into Glen Helen for a long hike yesterday. Back in the day, when we lived across from the Glen, I feel we solved many of our parenting dilemmas and disagreements over a walk through these woods.

on reading

“Make an effort to separate yourself from the internet. Read books.”
― Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century

my eyes are giant jaws

know how to disappear 

me into books, let pages 

wrap and  swallow  me

like  a  tsunami  shelter 

I fix pages over my ears 

as  screens--under arms

suffering fins and wings 

Words? They're reckless 

things, they'll say/soak up

just anything: look/listen

how they make hope/fear/

freedom come true just by

knowing and remembering 

watch us waiting our turn 

...our time to sing/to sting

_____________________

Note: The "to sting" inspiration might just come from Nu's baby lovey, Silky the Bee, who used to pleasantly nuzzle "buzz-buzz" and then when you least expected it go "'ting-'ting." 

_____________________

Pic: Baker Woods yesterday with LB, who's back from Oregon (Yay). The woods are so bare now, but we still managed to get a bit lost because we hadn't been in so long and so many trees had come down in the interim.

first snow

a babe raises its mouth
to a morsel, to a cry 
we don't know 

fates fall from the sky
as unrelenting and

absurd as dust

don't ask me if I'm ok
I hope you can see

it's never forever

certainty lies: blatantly

yet also reposes soft

like grace

_____________________

Pic: It snowed yesterday and it was bearable because it was cozy inside.

snatches of what I tell myself as I fall asleep

summer will       give us back      the world

now is a time     to retreat         and recover 

I promise             I promise     there will be 

reasons to celebrate      reasons    to  sing... 

survival      isn't a solo piece   it's all of us 

in symphony      or ceremony     or clamor

with our love and hope  and our obstinacy

and... our spite     showing up        to  heal

 ______________________

Pic: Huck and Max aren't pleased about where we are either. (I can't remember why they look so pissed here--probably because I got up off the couch?)
 

Escape Sonnet

I wonder where survival will take me tomorrow
if after this night there will be another one
I remember the small things we said
in the small hours
of the dreams
I picked out
for you

for  I 

keep little
I only need a little 
in this frail world of ours 
I wait for you to call me yours 
as I wait for you to tell me the story again 
the clench of your fist easing as it meets flowers

_____________________________

Pic: Under the Beal Street Bridge. 

orison for an apocalypse

let us praise the ghosts

tired as they return 

home to us 

let us pry open a time 

until nothing is left

unremembered

let us pray we can shine 

redundantly into a day 

already radiant 

let us practice coming 

to the reopened door 

with hope

___________________________

Pic: This is my favorite thing--sorry not the dead flowers and the gunky birdbath--but yes, the flaking Buddha statue with the verdigris and faded prayer flags and the accidental hole in his thigh and the CHIPMUNK FAMILY WHO SHELTERS INSIDE HIM. 

there is no map to the unreal

the long lines won't let go

I cannot even write

who is it that sold the world

who birthed it breaking

words turn, unlatch, and then

run away

I am run over in the middle of 

of nowhere

the journey is now a recovery

just a few steps 

forward and then I carefully

re-turn back 

I'm eclipsed in the small forevers

of amnesias

a place I have all the time I want

to not be here

_____________

 Pic: My today, basically: books, work, puppies. It's sad and hilarious how terrified Max is of the purple ball when it rolls towards him. He was scared of it when he was a puppy and it was bigger than him, and somehow scared of it still although he's much bigger than it now. Perhaps there's some lesson there for me?