Prep Mode

These guys kept me company while I got some Thanksgiving dinner prep done today. As At pointed out, this picture encapsulates them perfectly: Huck can barely contain herself and Scout is pretending stoicism.

It's going to be so strange doing a Thanksgiving with just us. We each picked a dish, and that gave us a more tightly edited menu, but it's not exactly spare. So far, my cranberry chutney turned out amazing (extra onion, apple, and fresh ginger... yum). No one actually asked for it, but what else am I going to goop over the roast root veggies which were my pick?!

Also keeping me company--EM's pistachio baklava. She had "extra" and brought me a whole plateful. I am so thankful.

Curling into an ending

Kiss the day with mother-tongue

HumHymnOm to morning

parse words from sounds

through the day.

To Sleep

How did I not get here earlier--

Was I just riding skies

instead of seas--

Sadness and gladness are cruel 

sirens, crossing countries

with me, waiting

near the cave that is my mind.

Do you hear me? Hear me!

Bear me forward.

I hymn you in the old ways

drowsily exhaling light

breaking like the day. 

Out and about

Today I want to write a poem that will not be about dying 

maybe something something being in community 

about being connected and continuing

About holding my arms out like a tree even when empty

(stop that!) about sending all my pain to the sea, 

where it's already salty

By day I will read something lofty, edifying, clear

At night, I will watch stars that seem cold 

and know they're really quite fiery

Alert with my intention, my asylum of inattention

I sling myself to beauty, ignore summer's

pillows smattered with snow

Afterglow

 

Voting rights and travel +

 

Within Without

Please hold my head as gently 

as a bomb labeled 'headache'

knowing the earth is waiting

feeding time under the loam

who is it who knocked on the door (we didn't hear)

who is it who wants to come in (we can't really see)

howling into the cusp, dreams away from disaster

learning the circuitry of sadness, the lineage of loss

For in a different world 

I lost many months ago

my tongue a tombstone

fingers clawing worms