happiness as a puzzle

your postcard from there--is happy you're not here 

morning has already withdrawn into itself  

this sun shines as cold as a moon

*

your news from the doctor is called "not happy"

decades grow like blessings on my body

I wish I could send them to you 

*

and somewhere, a grim chorus of earthquakes 

I'm overcome by measuring the ever afters  

without "happily" prefacing them

_______________________

(unrelated) Pic: Huckie being cute; Scout's somewhere under there too. 

Notes: Sending JG and MB off to Portugal, BS's diagnosis and treatment, 20K + people dead in Turkey, Sistrum chorus rehearsals yesterday, rainy-ass day today.

tall portents

trees make me feel small 

and immense all at once

each connecting me to all

--the rich darkness of roots

under my breath I'll call

for a spring into existence

from extinction in leaf fall

--secretly yearning to be lost 

_______________________

Pic: Baker Woods with Big A.
 

a time for ice hockey

Into the woven silence--shouts

--like applause in the quiet 

of song just ended 

O these joyful, prayerful wars 

--ice in the curve of a river

smiles up at the sky

Pic: The Red Cedar is frozen solid; when we rounded the corner, MSU students were playing ice hockey on it.

and so we abide

I've so crossed so many rivers this day

some over and over as night falls 

clouds scattering like children 

to a preferred rendezvous 

with you I mark the present of now 

rippling like the joy shining 

from syllables of a song 

just half recalled

and above all, the shock of welcome 

the glacial startle of kindnesses

that engulf what I've become

on this other side 

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

Pic: Red Cedar River/Beal St. Bridge

winter #76519

winds search me head to toe

volant, a waterfall of sound

their coldness is everywhere 

but also--so patient with me 

I listen: they tell me everything

dumb once upon a winter time

so loudly, intending to alert all

my personal emergency systems

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

Pic: The backyard from the upstairs landing. It almost looks like a black-and-white picture... except for the pillows that I always fail to bring in every year...

book talk

to move out of no and never
look up to the untold 

It feels as if we've already 

lived forever

made the eternal arguments 

a hundredfold 

friend, tether me with books

cover me with pages

mix me in the breathlessness

of these mistakes

turn me to light and lightness

learn me to be courageous 

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

Pic: Books for reading groups at work this term. The first discussion was today at the President's house. Usually, a book that describes students as "consumers" would make me ditch it, but I had to read it so I did. Small colleges like ours are likely to go the way of the afternoon newspaper (i.e. into oblivion) if we don't innovate. Fair. We'll need to do that, however, without losing our idealistic core--our conviction that education impacts and improves lives and that learning to learn is the best form of future-proofing for our kids. 

road trip talk

words walk away; walk me back

tangling and untangling the past

I look to the sky; birds don't care--

they sing wordlessly anyway 

you look for proof, for guarantees

I have only sympathy, agreement--

we're now the rain's own drum beat

a storm announced on this journey 

but we're in charge of where we go,

when we stop--our talk is like a trip--

is that insight? It feels like a lightbulb

in the sudden pop of the sun overhead 

five pups tonight

I spent many hours on the sofa in post-pizza and post-teaching lassitude this evening, accompanied by Scout (at my hip) and Huck (by my feet) and Floof (on the bannister). The fourth pup is me ("Pup," "Puppy," and "Princess Puppy Dog" have been nicknames from different loved ones--one of whom has a birthday today). 

The fifth pup is in this poem by Charles Simic (Simic died recently and I've been thinking of this poem about how we don't deserve dogs--or war--a lot). 

On this Very Street in Belgrade

Your mother carried you

Out of the smoking ruins of a building

And set you down on this sidewalk

Like a doll bundled in burnt rags,

Where you now stood years later

Talking to a homeless dog,

Half-hidden behind a parked car,

His eyes brimming with hope

As he inched forward, ready for the worst.

 

double bubble

The reflection of the graffiti doubled how colorful that patch of the bridge looked as L and I came around the bend, and it reminded me of Laura Gilpin's poem "Two-headed Calf." 

L hadn't heard of this amazing poem, so I found it on my phone and read it to her with my voice breaking at the end.

Then we finished up our walk and I headed into a day of meetings meetings meetings meetings.

And some good news from this week: two poems  accepted to an anthology of pandemic-era writing, and also accepted--an academic book proposal that the editor who wrote back characterized as "gentle and kind."

winter in two places

somewhere not here

someone I love finishes

a shift in the ER: 12 hours

in the dark, desperate hours 

over night... on his way home

dreaming of breakfast then bed

he nevertheless stops on the way

gently checks on someone else

huddled and sleeping in a doorway

way over here, I marvel at geese

standing on a layer of ice so thin 

it's almost barely a breath of frost

I watch as bit-by-bit the ice cracks 

and gives... and the geese settle 

into different spaces and poses

their refusal to panic at anything

to do with winter's fickle apparatus

my hunger, my yearning, are an infinity

Pic: geese (standing/sitting) on a very thin layer of ice. Red Cedar River. From Monday's walk with L.

when I can't make up my mind

the constant urgings of the morning

then time scatters what comes next 

regret is everywhere like graffiti

discontent sinks in like stones

there are more than just two options

one can't really outspend them all 

I know I'll hope I know I'll hope 

I hope I'll know I hope I'll know 

Pic: Graffito on my walk with Big A this morning. (MSU, under the Farm Lane Bridge.)

a second day of sunshine this year

We're getting fancy in Lansing, MI

the day no longer seems some

element to overcome

the sun shines like it does on TV

skies turn from blank openings

to bliss in a blue abyss 

(tree shadows too have RSVP-ed 

to be on guard, fend off the look

of a picture postcard)

Pic: Second day of sunshine in Jan 2023. 

an ode to rest

How like a winter hath my absence been

so what if I've been busy with sleep

the machinery of the day lets me be

in a time of year filled with starting:

I am the weight of flowers on a grave 

I am the songs of stones grown older 

I am the circle spreading boldly in me 

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

I only have to close my eyes to find all--

fancy is longlegged, dashes fast and far

history recedes like a corridor of dreams

fades into quietness on each side of sleep 

dark, dawn become the same masquerade

so yes, my friend--begin the year with rest

Pic: Hyacinths are blooming. And things look a bit wilder than they did last year.

Note: Stanza first lines from Shakespeare's Sonnet 97 that begins:

"From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! 

What old December’s bareness every where! 

How like a winter hath my absence been..."

the long arc (a poem for Scout)

I keep walking backwards 

from want to hope
they tell me I use 

"hope" to cope

my pulse beats with regret 

and distress though

it's true they too 

worship hope 

I know I keep disappearing

into a gratefulness

parroting prayers

to survive

remembering to thank ancestors 

(the ones that petted wolves)

who knew love would

arrive as you 

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

Pic: Scout the champion snuggler... his arm over my leg 😍

Note: My favorite Scout poem is here.

Farewell, 2022

A good last day with two long walks with LB and BSL to round off the year. 

A raucous dinner time with Scout and Huck underfoot, and Nu, At, and Big A at the counter for parathas--the person waiting for me to finish the next paratha were in charge of running a round of Truth or Dare. Some calls to grandparents, the traditional new year presents (calendars and something inspiring), a few eps of Joe Pera... and then At was off to a show with friends, Nu was on with friends online, and I joined PM's write-in for the new year on Slack (where I started and abandoned a poem based on PM's prompt). 

And then, as Big A, Scout and Huck napped inches away from me, it was 2023. 

sunrise sonnet

I can taste the new year in this new day

pulling me awake with its splash of light

my voice and sight fused with throbbing,

thoughts buckling, shaking free answers

and origins, shouting hellos back to life

sometimes with "?" sometimes with "!"

because who the heck knows certainty 

I feel carried like the five-year-old who 

fell asleep just before the final turn home

the steady hand on my back unnecessary

except to comfort me, a kiss in my hair

tells me I'm not a burden, but a delight...

carry me even if I think I'm conning you 

carry me for a while / to feigned eternity 

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

Pic: Sunrise on waking (through the landing window). The snow had all melted by the end of the day--it was close to 50 degrees here today!

finish soft not strong

the year will grow dark 

like a lovers' room 

a beautiful failure 

of sleep

be tender and selfish: watch 

wants freeze and fall...

away like fugitive 

icicles

but come, don't let me forget 

how this week's thaw--like

last week's freeze--is sure

to return

Pic: Mallards on The Red Cedar.

at a stand still

after all these years 

I'll still write you poetry

you'll still bring me flowers

after all these years 

you'll will me to learn how to

pop open the hood of our car 

refill the reservoir with cleaner 

in all these years

I had not done this for myself

trusting you to be continuous

as a stream, as the sun, without end

until the years sloped into forever

but I can understand too 

because of all our years 

how you'll will me to be safe

so I can wait clunky as hope 

while you are gone and still

be here when you return 

for many more years

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

Pic: The Red Cedar River in the falling snow.

in the plot to continue

here I am safe, fattening on whatever I can find 
remembering what it used be like out there 
the hunger spreading like an empty field 

where I kept making the same skeletal mistake 

over and over like the single kernel from 

which whole fields once generated 

greater than any winter ripening is the beauty

of appetite, my favorite part of the future 

formidable as seeds springing up 

Pic: A plump red cardinal; MSU Riverwalk with Big A.

a quiet sort of mutiny

sentinel these stands

disarming in triumph
serene argent sibilance
calling out only to me 
in impatience but also
in conscience, I know--

I write to no one I know 
not to expect a response
I know "no" is in itself
a sentence--all I can do 
is marvel, I can't explain 
no--I 'm already letting go  
------------------------------------

Pic: Baker Woods in the snow.