appearing overnight

I used to climb black trees in my childhood

knowing leaves then as outbound beacons

who taught me places I know only now 

I twisted my braids with longing 

My arms become spears of bewilderment

they branch into wild whitenesses

prickle open rooms of secrets

stake it all so I can see

This morning I reached into another day
to eclipse gravity, light, and language
beloved, who is this wild animal 
with its tiled back turned

mouth around your moments of darkness
whisper to me the place it came from 
why does it watch for you to sleep
creep glances to your chest

[unfinished]

Note: Woke with the image of a beast looking down at something it held in its hands. Unsettling. Had two hikes canceled (snow + wind) and people's moods at home went up and down all day... I'm glad today is done. 

"saying the word I was not supposed to say"

Nu and I went to The Vagina Monologues performance helmed by MacCurdy, the women's house I advise. 

We got a solid two hours of talking and joint DJ-ing in the car, an electrifying performance by some fabulous people, and lots of fun and supportive chats. I got a personal shoutout in the program notes + Nu told me that they're "so proud" of the work I do... 

(Nu's comment took me to Sarabeth Maney's picture of Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson and the way her child was beaming at her during KBJ's historic Supreme Court confirmation hearing. I mean, Nu wasn't quite as admiring, but then I haven't exactly been nominated to the Supreme Court either 😇.)

Feeling so grateful today for all of this.

Dinner and... an essay

At the end of the evening after hosting a proper sit-down dinner party after ages, there was a sense of accomplishment. Yet even as I was getting ready to send a friend pictures of his kid petting Scout... I could read text notifications from my cousins. 

One cousin had texted that their parents had had a house fire and that aunt and uncle were ok; another cousin seems to be trying to get a family in the Ukraine to safety, but only the mom had a passport. 

How we live our lives in the presence of ongoing tragedies is rationally irreconcilable with our good intentions and thoughts. Mari Andrew's essay, which Mel at Stirrup Queens pointed me to, is a wise consolation: "Someone has always clinked a cocktail glass in one hemisphere as someone loses a home in another while someone falls in love in the same apartment building where someone grieves. The fact that suffering, mundanity, and beauty coincide is unbearable and remarkable."

Perhaps someday I will be able to reach her conclusion that "The world feels so sharp and crooked right now. I, for one, am at a complete loss, and my feelings are all over the place—as they should be. But I'm appreciating my little moments of bliss like energy bars for the road ahead, and embracing my sadness in all its wisdom."

Pic: Nu and Huck paying attention to stories about the E.R. from dad.

puppy snuggles and cricket memories

It was national puppy day, I think? I'm late as usual. I love this one with Huck's arm draped around Scout's shoulder... they're both lying on my feet (of course!),  which is why I couldn't get a fuller shot.

I've picked up the contradictory habit of watching movies in episode-length segments (it goes nicely with my other weird habit of watching multiple episodes of a show at one go). 

Anyway, finished watching "83" (in about four segments) and enjoyed how much old cricket lore came back to me as I watched it. It's a typical underdog sports story, and bit overdone in some parts, but I enjoyed it and yelped in surprise and delight when the real Kapil Dev made a cameo appearance.

Some of the nicest days in my childhood were when "pavillion" tickets to a match (passed on by cricketeer uncles/dad's work/well-connected family) showed up and we'd be allowed to skip school to spend all day at the stadium. Being stuck at school when a big match was on was the worst: kids these days don't know the painful suspense of finding out the score from the tuck shop radio or having to depend on friendly teachers who could bring us the latest from the teachers' lounge TV.

the return

home seems habitual

the way it sings to us

tells us special things 

no one else will

the joy of sitting here 

ruined with utter love 

or something edging

it up until 

the singularity of life

skimming the years

dims these currents 

into standstill

so we jump narrative

rewind our best parts

outside the visible

--ask for a refill

Pic: Big A is back! We were at our desk trying to work on a project, but Scout and Huckie thought they needed to check in on us.

wild and precious time

I chuckle/howl/bawl-ed so hard at this one.

I love Mary Oliver's "The Summer Day" poem so much and love that other people love it too and love that it became something people passed around in the pandemic. I mean there's apparently a whole Pinterest section on it.

But this Sarah Lazarus take on it is hilarious. We have literally been using this line of inquiry to make decisions on birthday plans, vacations, work duties.

Travel, especially, seems to require some unsentimental evaluation. I have some coming up: an honor society meeting with students early April; a site-visit for the big NWSA conference in May; and... do we dare plan a non-US family vacation in June?

prayer in March

Here I ask the seeds 

to push past mud 

to present hope

watching how answers 

in every fresh year

lie about

this yearning for mottled
softness to appear

under trees

Note: I liked the idea of using "past," "present," "lie" etc. as seeds that could be read in more than one way.

Pic: Our tea garden/my happy place. I have the remnants of my birthday flowers... but also a late amaryllis, and some early cyclamen, bougainvillea, begonias, hyacinths, and crocuses coming up!