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. 

grey skies, glassy river

At's coworkers S and H, who had worked until 11 pm, came over after their shift to strategize for their first bargaining meeting on Monday. For fuel, I made them tea to go with the iced cookies we had. They worked until nearly 2:00 am--their quiet murmurs punctuated by shouts of laughter. How hard and joyously these young people work! 💗

At and I were up again around 6:00 am to make breakfast tacos. Then I dropped At off at the bus for Detroit where they're meeting up with friends to go see Connor O'Malley. Back home, Nu took today to "decompress." 

I did too. I took a long ramble by myself, started rereading Anna Karenina, did yoga with Big A (tech-y: via Portal and a Mirror lesson and doggy with guest appearances by Scout and Huck on my camera), soaked, snacked, made a sweet-potato-apple-"sausage"-spinach soup for dinner. Then on to student meetings and grading.

Let me be weird: At got home late last night after Nu had already gone to bed, so I thought Nu would want some At time at breakfast, but Nu decided for a Saturday sleep-in instead. Fair. Also, At was in a hurry this morning and didn't say goodbye to Nu. Understandable. The thing is... ever since I read Cheryl Strayed's Wild, where the siblings become estranged after their mom dies, I've been hit by the fear that my kids will lose touch with each other as grownups if I'm not around. 

How's that for a nice morbid thought? Ok... back to grading.

Pic: Grey skies and a glassy Red Cedar River; I love the curving tree in the foreground.

on an internet kind of day

I can go incandescent 

                                       waiting, for you--

are lunatic with longing 

doing wondrous things--

                                        and where we are

there is time for refuge 

use your words, as they say

                                         call out to me--either

I didn't catch your name

or I forgot how to say it 

                                          in English

you laugh in confusion 

tell me how you found

                                           a way--without 

saying where it might be

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

Thanks to Mel at Stirrup Queens for the shoutout on her 922nd Friday Blog Roundup. As always, when I get a shoutout from Mel, it coincides with other good publication news--this time the editorial go-ahead on a WGS-related book project.

as for myself

I've sunk narcissus bulbs

into dark, stony places 

                                                 pushing them down into dirt

                                                 hoping they'll rise...

my random presents to myself

mirroring blessing

                                                  as the weeks arrive, curving

                                                  into Christmas

I yearn for their spiky baroque

their green resilience

                                                  to lift color into the cold air

                                                  rustling me to worship 

for a fragrance--so like flames  

to rescue me from winter

a "class" picture

My capstone students did such great work on their finals this week. 

I look forward to all the conference presentations that are going to evolve out of their work here over the next few months...
 

Hope as a draft

EM to dinner tonight, and I finally got to give her the "Hope is a form of planning" journal I got at the NWSA book fair (EM and I are working on the idea of hope in the classroom). Also just realized from research googling that it's a quote from Gloria Steinem.

I have a lot of stuff about hope saved in an email draft--everyone from Mariame Kaba to Audre Lorde is on it. And also this solid article of how to deal with "hope fatigue" by Lesley Alderman.

It's nice to read this draft as it never fails to cheer me up. 

(I suppose that's a good thing as I'm feeling a bit shaky currently. I teared up when I dropped Big A off at the train station and then cried in the car on hearing this fairly standard radio story because they talked about the 25th anniversary of Purple Rain. Something is going on with me, and I'm not sure what it is yet. Yes, I wish Prince were still in this world, but surely, it wasn't just that?) 

Pic: Book Club over the weekend. Being with them gives me hope. 

from a distance

hope is heavy
her mouth is pulled out of shape 
with worry

          she thinks
          bruises are the sharp edge of love  
          in skin's own ink

but in the water

she floats, weighs nothing at all

it anchors her 

          to meaning

          she can break down in answers

          then drink it in