a day in the park

although most days dawn familiar

today from this bench I can hear 

children sing the songs they know 

about love and loss they don't know 

amidst laughter--these are the petty 

triumphs I want, the amiable teasing

practice for adulthood or adolescence 

while song comes in lashes of breath

in skeins of sound, spinning a cocoon 

around pain, placing it gently into trees 

that are beginning... to open their hands 

so I can put my heart at the quiet mercy 

of these top-20 tunes, feel the light lift

at the horizon of each child's laughter

imagining even their chatter as prayers

as promises of continuous tomorrows

________________________

Pic: From yesterday's walk east along The Red Cedar. The paths are flooded; I snuck around a few parking lots to bypass the submerged sections.

when I let go

I seek rest while my words 
continue to work like 
beautiful outlaws
          for although I am meant to go
          I know no one has died 
          of being tired 
look--objectification in the mirror
is closer than it appears

and yet I find
          I've started to imagine myself
          as someone with holes
          in my hands 

___________________

Pic: L and I made a trip to our Daffodil Hill and it seems like the daffs are a bit early this year? (When I searched "daffodil hill, all of my other posts were from the last week of April.)

if you are my friend

let's keep going, let's get to the grandeur
let's come back, let's touch absences 
to one another

our next hours wait patiently as the present

life can be a cold war sometimes

its firings accidental 

our lives recognizable as burning pages
opening in flame before curling
sullenly into ash

let us finally acknowledge our condition 

know we are holding our breath-- 

to avoid inhaling smoke

____________

Pic: The Red Cedar in Spring (yay) thaw. Sprigs of forsythia (yay, Spring) in the corner of the frame.

don't let the one with the coconuts tell the story

Three traders set out, board the boat,
eager and dreaming of success

each with a sack of their wares
upright in the restless breeze
by their feet

it is a completely ordinary journey

their chat common, dealing 

in bargains and markets... 

until the storm bursts

until the boat floods 

Uppulu

Aiiyo! I've lost everything

weeps the trader whose sack was full of salt...

as all the salt slips away in rivulets 

of milky wetness beneath their feet

and the sack empties into nothing

Poppulu

Aiiyo! I've lost everything

weeps the trader whose sack was full of lentils...

though really, some lentils are soaked through

puffy as flowers ready for the pot this evening

but the rest may survive to sell after an airing

Koppulu 

Aiiyo! I've lost everything

weeps the trader whose sack was full of coconuts...

though the coconuts look fresh as children just bathed 

What? Say the others. No, you haven't lost anything!

Your coconuts look like they got a free wash. Shut up.

____________________
Note: From a story my ayah told me in Telugu to illustrate how the well-to-do love to complain about their misfortune even when it doesn't really compare or isn't really a misfortune. (I wonder now if there was something that prompted it--like if she'd had some argument with my parents who would have seemed well-to-do to her.) I came up with the retort to the coconut trader and the subheadings (salt, lentils, coconuts in Telugu) because they so neatly nearly rhyme. And I gender neutralized the characters without losing the plot.
______________________
Pic: The beautiful spring view from RS's window at book club today. There was more resistance talk and organizing than book discussion, which was ok with me. Especially since I'd read You Think It, I'll Say It literally years ago and forgotten many of its finer details.

like an open window

today I go on into

this leftover world 
with its great gifts 
of unfastened earth
and lightened tasks 

                                walking altogether
                                talking to myself 
                                and my gods--as if
                                anyone else would
                                even be listening--

waiting for beauty
opening like a fire 

connection a flash

the moments of 

understanding like

                                the peace that passes 

                                in the long silent times

                                of waiting as my heart

                                circles red the sounds 

                                of recovery and rises 

________________________________

Pic: This love. I get to handle this level of mopey, smitten affection for hours every day. Mostly from Max. Huck (further down) is a bit more sophisticated about it. 

that it's only a doorway, that I'm only a door

So I go bravely before memory
pet my parents so gently
and secretly check 

that they breathe

the day begins or it does not
I can no longer joyride

on his shoulders or
straddle her hip

I fly them in on my thoughts
my rictus of yearning 

like a formal exit 

finding a soul

to write them everywhere 

like graffiti, follow

them everywhere 

like a ghost

______________

Note: There was a period in childhood where I was terrified my parents would die in their sleep. (They were perfectly healthy; everyone's parents in books were always dying though.) I would usually check their breath from the doorway of their bedroom. But my mom says she's woken up to me standing by her bed. (I might have died if I woke up to find someone staring down at me.)

____________________

Pic: Nu and I loved this puzzle we found at the bookstore, and we loved that someone had already put all the pieces together!

Oh, and Happy World Poetry Day!

a very short journey to Varanasi

when  the priest  says it's time to wed

the groom declares he must leave now

he will go on a pilgrimage to Varanasi 

where  he yearns to become a scholar 

the  bride's brother  hurries after  him

with an umbrella, a brass pot of water

come back, he pleads, marry my sister

he waves the umbrella over the groom

who  is already dressed for a wedding

he  carefully washes  the  groom's feet 

with turmeric water from the brass pot 

in which marigold and rose petals float 

to soften his pleas, his clear entreaties...

the groom eagerly agrees, then presents 

his brother-in-law-to-be with a gold ring 

the wedding carries on as it was meant to

_____________________________________

Note: In South Indian Hindu wedding ceremonies there is a part called the Kasi Yatra (Pilgrimage to Kasi-Varanasi) which is such a little piece of theater. The groom declares that he's decided to continue being a bachelor student-scholar and takes a little ceremonial walk pretending to take off to the scholarly city Varanasi while the bride's brother is despatched to beg him to return to the wedding. They say it is to mark the passage of the groom from the state of bachelorhood to that of a householder. But it seems like a lot of drama. Haha. The groom is expected to give his brother-in-law-to-be a precious ring to reward him. My uncle still wears the ring my father gave him.

in this version of myself

words break open into smiles
as they escape my mouth 
even as the sun breaks 
through clouds

every day it seems I put aside 

the language of survival

and will myself to find

life's uncut joy 

though my hands seem empty

I know in this version they 

cast to light and return

ready for the fight 

__________________

Pic: The sky as I headed home this evening: it's light out, the skies are blue, there are puffy white clouds. I didn't need a rainbow for my heart to leap up. 

waiting to be discovered

I come back, back to myself
my ears lost in my hair
skin in hide and seek

while waiting for the rain
while making some tea
I am owed

after I leave I wait to arrive

an endless innovation 

of grief, of joy 

loneliness is only an ongoing

connection with time

strange at its best

I learn how to speak to myself 

in courageous tenderness

and enact rest

________________________

Pic: The kandi bracelet Nu made me and Tiggy-Winkle (after Beatrix Potter) the fidget hedgehog KPB crocheted for me. Aren't they amazing? They look like they could be friends and live together!

Pre-birthday!

Mondays aren't teaching days, so I had a soft reentry to the second half of the term. I got class preps in early, and worked on some reviews for a while. Then the heating tech came by to fix our broken heater. I forgot to mention we didn't have heat over the weekend--thankfully, the hot water was still working and I got by with sweaters and puppies.

Big A and I took off for a hike in Sleepy Hollow State Park, I've wanted to go back with him ever since I went with work friends last month. He downloaded the six-mile loop trail, but I wanted to go around the island too, as it's really picturesque, and then we got lost for a bit--so it ended up being more like eight miles. 

At one point, Big A pointed at a plastic tube and looked at me very meaningfully, and I didn't know what he meant--like was he mad that someone had dropped their chapstick? Turned out it was a shotgun casing. I'd never seen one in my life before. We found a bunch more further down the trail, but didn't meet any hunters.

Birthday cards and a garden catalog (Spring is coming!) were in the mail and we got Subway for dinner as a treat. Online birthday greetings are beginning to trickle in (my school friend's big sis in New Zealand is always the first one to wish me), I've had birthday calls with my sister and my uncle, my birthday fundraiser is over halfway there (I set a bigger goal than usual, fingers crossed), I'm on my way! Yay! 

Pic:Lake Ovid behind me. Sleepy Hollow State Park.

and in the end

 in all the noises that swallow our silence

the wind sweet from yesterday's baking

let's take an slow inventory of the body 

over the sore fingers, the ache of prayer 

as the snow bends us into old women 

& mouths sprout puffs of baby laughter 

until we pull the noise from our heads

those star-bellied, wind-bitten skies

and we are gentle loving the people

who can love each other at the end

_________________________

Pic: Outside. Thawing.

a love song / love cakes /surrounded by love

a love song

the hero in my heart feels right at home 

cheering for me, and asking to stay

I'm waiting...  for answers 

and searching for things I haven't lost

beloved, you whisper to me of love

how I can find it in myself 

__________________

I made Persian Love Cake last week from this recipe, and made it again this week with a few tweaks. I added pistachios and rose petals in the cake batter too, made a topping rather than a glaze, liberally increased the amount of sugar, rose water, and almond flour, used moulds rather than a pan, and so on to a point where it's now a different thing altogether.

I took a batch to with me to Troy when I went to visit my (actually my sister's) old school friend. I had to remind myself not to treat her like she was 15--she has an 18-year-old herself now. I took Big A's car in case I got lost because my car is all battery and I didn't want to be lost and without battery power. (And I did get lost once. Briefly.) I felt surrounded by love all day from Big A filling up his gas tank before he came home from work this morning to SQ sending me home with six boxes of food.

Pic: Love cakes cooling before being boxed up.

fallout shelter breakout

there must be someplace where life takes place

outside the snarl and rattle of tyranny 

and everything else just waits

life could just be... beautiful even if useless 

longing could maybe be merely distance 

growing wordless, not mindless 

but my teen just doesn't yet know what happens  

to the Emmett Till Monument... doesn't even

know what they've done to Stonewall 

it feels like we've hardly caught up with history 

while events range--like mountain peaks

just absurd in scale and spilling over

so here we go again searching for surest shelter 

after gasping out how we'll never return 

just... going back and forth like that  

_____________________________

Pic: Serendipitously, a shelter I spied at Sleepy Hollow Park yesterday. 

a stranger sonnet

I let the ecologue in my head be interrupted
for it is also right there and alright
ready to wait for these letters 

that make all these words

that then go on to make

so many meanings

and things

watch how

it is wayward

and a bit word weary 

and yet bright as a ribbon

tossed up, a road trip through 

options: what is / what we wanted /

how we find our way as we brake for beauty

_________________________________

Pic: A hike in Sleepy Hollow State Park with work friends (none of whom I'd ever hiked with before). Also four new-to-me doggos. Would repeat. In the proverbial heartbeat.

the drumming in the wilderness

by the time this day ends 

I've  run  out  of  prayers

but  I've  made  an  altar

where  I grimly offer up 

my  pride,  my  surprise 

other  words  are  missing

(we'll  always  miss  them)

there is also indifference

its easy caress like a hook

escaping edicts, their edits

dim redactions--it's official

it's artificial--how we are all 

desperate as gossips--telling 

and listening at the same time

__________________

Pic: Store-bought chocolate cheesecake bites, store-bought valentine's day picks; assemblage 100% me. Max still doesn't know chocolate Valentine's Day treats are not for him--it's a good thing there are other treats he can have. Several long meetings today, but I somehow managed to power shop for our Post-Valentine's potluck tomorrow. We've already had some cancelations from long-distance friends due to the winter storm though... I think local friends will still be able to make it. Let's see. 

steps to space

I am five and a "flower girl."

In the nativity play. 

(It must be one of the roles they give out when the real parts are gone quipped someone recently.

It's probably true.)

I have a new dress with flowers on it. I have flowers in my hair. I am so excited. 

My mother wants to know if she can help me rehearse "my steps." She means my choreography/step-by-step moves on stage. 

I have no idea what she means. 

(I have nothing to do in the play. I merely stand in a line with the other bit players and throw a flower or two out of my basket.)

It becomes a small "thing." 

Do you know your steps? she keeps asking. 

I have no idea how to respond.

I have a brainwave and tell her that I can't say them but I can draw it for her. 

She's confused. But ok. 

We find some paper and crayons.

I proudly draw her a series of descending interconnected "Ls" to make a picture of stairs...  they begin and end in emptiness.

*

At is nearly five. This child is my life.

It is summer, my favorite time of the year. 

At is an easy, happy child. We've spent hours cuddled up,  painting, reading, exploring in the community garden...

In this moment, At's health status terrifies me. "Failure to Thrive" a medical resident said with a smile once. (I know they were smiling because they'd solved the mystery diagnosis and not because my child might not live, still...) "Failure to Thrive" makes mealtimes and food intake strenuous and stressful. 

It is summer, my favorite time of the year. 

It is summer and At has no school.

I am in grad school. I am newly widowed. I have spent the day parenting alone. 

I owe my advisor a dissertation chapter, I owe a colleague a book review, I owe the IRS what seems a lot of money.

It's finally 7 pm and I put At to bed. After reading and singing and talking (At has always LOVED to talk), it's 8 pm and I'm getting ready to slip out of At's tiny bed. 

"Stay!" At says. Hopeful eyes, cheeky smile.

And I (will forever regret that I) said the tired thing in my head. "I have to go, Kanna... I need to make some space for me." 

"Wait-wait!" the lonely child says--tiny, triumphant hands eagerly sweeping up books and stuffies to make room, "I'll make more space for you!"  

____________________________

Pic: Rainbow-tunnel-carwash. Stuck there, it seemed both grim and hopeful at the same time. 

desire is difficult to diagram

if you called my name but I was already gone

I'm sorry

oh, you never quite felt like you could call me--

I'm sorry

will there be a happily ever after... a crying game

I don't know

I know the incandescent knowledge of nearness

I do know 

the history of desire, its statement of purpose 

is to know 

without looking, the beaconing of new pleasure

we failed

to see our souls were rotating towards danger

we fail

each other unraveling faster than imagination 

we wait

circling for directions, feral breath on fur, lying

in wait

__________________________________

Pic: The hand-made dish I found at the thrift yesterday ($2:73!); I nestled some hyacinths, rosemary,  baby aloe, and moss together in it. I think tiny daffodils (when I can get some) would look particularly nice because of the yellow flower in the center. I wonder who made this, whom they gave it to, and why it ended up at the thrift store.

pre-fight hype song

armed with the sindoor of sunrise 
smeared over my morning 
even the soft grey skies feel holy 

as the ash of vibhuti

today it doesn't seem to matter 
that the thing 
we made of history has caught me
I try hope, I try anger

it seems I'll try anything, everything 
in this tumbling world
accidents, things constellate my past
hope peoples my future

my muscles and brain are flexed 
with the good fight 
I use my imagination to succeed 
...or survive 

_______________________________________
Pic: Snow, trees, and the squirrel we call Kylo Ren because of his black garb. 

"Ladies' Liquor and Cake"

I am lucky to know JS, the wonderful poet and human, whose brainchild "Ladies' Liquor and Cake" is.

When the invitation to this "essential frivolity" came a few weeks ago, it urged: "These are desperate times and we must cut to the quick: good company (essential), cake (of course) and liquor (naturally)."

I was happy to attend. Now I'm full of good company and cake, sushi (it's my Boss Day), I made time for a yoga sesh, I'm deep into a couple of good books, and also At came by and I got a good cuddle in with the best human cuddle baby I've made! What I can control is going really well.

Outside is still a mess.

Pic: JS had a place for people to post uplifting upcoming events at "Ladies' Liquor and Cake." Her baby's name is Scout too, and that's yet another reason I like being at her place.

things I did I can be proud of

I called my political representatives about the government coup by Musk. I used 5calls.org and it's really easy as they hook you up with the relevant reps and provide a script if you want to use it.  

I tried something new... I applied to a medical  humanities conference over the weekend, and... I got accepted! I think I can use professional development funds to attend this one. (This reminds me that I ought to submit poems to journals. Some poems got picked up by anthologies last year, but I didn't actually send out any all last year. That's terrible. I shouldn't be so afraid of rejection that I never get accepted!)

I tidied my closet... and everything looks so bright and boutique-y. I catch myself going in there like a dork just to look at it. 

I got so many recommendation letters for students and support letters for colleagues done. I was talking to Big A about how I spend too much time on these when the prevailing advice is to get them done as quickly as possible. Reason #457865 to love him, he said of course it makes sense for me to do things in a way that leaves me feeling satisfied. (People depend on these things; I never feel like I can just dash them off.) 

Pic: A sord (I had to look it up) of mallards on a floe on the Red Cedar.