What will be left of me
When the world turns back on
Will I have died to enough
Mourned enough
Stayed sane enough
To pave a new way
Continue reading “Leftovers”
Category: Poetry
Someone Still Knows
The only thing on schedule this year are the ants.
Continue reading “Someone Still Knows”A Reflection for Indigenous People’s Day
I drafted this on Indigenous People’s Day, but wasn’t able to get it finished and posted until now. I offer this imperfect, searching reflection on the toll of perpetuating injustice.
Continue reading “A Reflection for Indigenous People’s Day”Grass in Early Covid
Walking the university
That day in early covid
All the gardeners home for weeks
Tools left to rust
Continue reading “Grass in Early Covid”
When It All Unravels
I planned to return to the blog with a piece about what I have been learning during shelter in place, but the events of the last few weeks can’t be put off until a more convenient time. And so, I hope you will accept this poem as an offering, a moment of soul-searching as I listen to the cries for justice happening across my nation, and an invitation to my community to listen well and seek clarity of vision as these events unfold.
Continue reading “When It All Unravels”Sheltered
What did Noah do
In all those long days at sea
The whole world a sea
Flooded horizon to horizon
Did it feel like a rescue
That wooden box crammed full Continue reading “Sheltered”
The Goldsmith
Next to the great thinkers,
The builders of castles
It seems I have not the resources nor the skill
To contribute to the arc of human understanding
As much as I desire to think and write
What might change history
I find myself instead twisting gold filigree
An inch at a time
To adorn the thoughts of another Continue reading “The Goldsmith”
RSVP
When Hope issues an invitation
A chance to dream of better
A looking forward to the future
Even against the past
Even against the present
To respond affirmatively
Is to soar and dream
To set aside the tension
Of one’s grounding
Of one’s doubt
Of Rainbows and Mud
(Part 4 of 4 in the “Grief in a Season of Joy” series)
Why do we never enter
the dripping, wild woods
As the rain starts to fall?
We fear the wet, the mud
The fallen leaves’ decay
Never noticing the fragrance
of new life they exude.
In our concern for comfort
Our endless quest for beauty
We do not look in such a way
As to see the foundational
Workings of new life
Leaf litter on the damp clay
Fallen timber awash with rain Continue reading “Of Rainbows and Mud”
Be Gentle with Yourself in Grief
(Part 3 of 4 in the “Grief in a Season of Joy” series)
Be gentle with yourself in grief
You cannot hurry it along by tackling it all at once
You cannot sweep it away without so much as a glance
You cannot dam it in an ever-increasing reservoir Continue reading “Be Gentle with Yourself in Grief”
In Pursuit of More 