and so here it is,
the storm that was foretold.

we have nothing left do,
but to walk on the sand.

i know what lives in the sea,
i know what goes to the ocean
to die.

to feel the salted water
beneath our questing feet.

this is not the mythic tale.
we are not liars,
we pick the dandelions and
wish on their soft, white
promises.

promise me; then "promise me" again.

this is the bible of my belief.
black leather with these
little gold letters.

and i believe,
although i know most
promises end up being
lies.

the dangerous
things we make of
each others'
hearts.

this compass tattooed
on my hand.

i was not unwilling.
just unwitting.

i am the ghost in the glass.
full moon waiting
just behind the halo
of clouds, thinning.
disappearing.

we are veiled,
but it is barely so.

i would like to whisper
in your ear,
"people are . . .

                               astounding"

and maybe that is true.

but mostly, dear, sweet heart,


"people are . . .

                              disappointing"

It's that time of year, time to try some new things.  2016 was so eventful, a bit complicated (under statement) and super busy.  So, with the onset of 2017 and with the last day of my winter break I decided to focus on a little on simplicity.  Creating some breathing space in a busy, bustling life.

then settling again, they are tied
to the trees, just like me.

they come to the pond,

"the pond of one"

where the fish
are sleeping, they
are somewhere deep.

dreaming of spring.

and the winter feels long,
but it is just beginning.

i am preparing for the long
night.  i walk along a river
of ice, but i am all right.

a man with strong hands,
walks beside me and he
talks to me and he listens
to me talk,

he is a gentle force, quiet and
trying.

tonight he will be flying,

a world away, he races
toward the new year.

i hold back, and wait.
i will not run towards it.
i will not run from it.

i trace my steps
in reverent silence
along the
mariana, the barren
waste land, the garden
of eden.

we all are shifting, moving,
changing.  a hole punched
through the day sky, a
peep hole into the dark, dark
night.  a universe full and
glittering, littered with
black holes and sun light.

i tread in the fish stew,
my toes ever seeking
the stability of the bottom.

my tippy toes playing
hide and seek with survival.

but i am not one pulled
all the way under, my head
bobs above the waves,
my eyes dance with the moon.

i remember. i swim with the fish
but my head is with the stars.

       "how do you make a good life?"

                     "you are good -

                           it is just this simple,

                                it is just this hard"

2016 ~ what can I even say? but you know I will say something :)

Thanksgiving 2015, mom was failing, it was our last holiday together, the last time I saw her.

She was so tired and frail ~ she and Ella and I laid in bed ~ I stroked her hair ~ she said that my brothers and I kept running around her ~ her mind wandering back to the time when we were small, tow headed and innocent beyond belief ~ we were running and laughing, bickering and chasing ~ and then we ran out of her room and we didn't come back ~

and she reached out for us, she was alone and lonely ~

and she cried, yelling after us then whispering,


     "where did you go?"


      "where did you go?"


where did you go?


and 2016?  a rush and a flash, :olde time she is a flying:

healing, trying to heal, buying a 100 year old home,  finding out my dad had cancer,  trying to fix up a  100 year old home (i yai yai), my grandpa dying, taking on preschool at work (blowing my mind!!), leaving my beloved high school and middle school, my daughter beginning high school (????), my 25  year high school reunion (that I couldn't make it to),  finding out my dad's cancer had returned ( :( )  walking and talking with my husband and my friends and my daughter ~

in short, life moving on ~ the world turning ~

here we are, this is our moment ~

2017, here we come . . .

but it is from the past that we view the future:

the mist, heavy and grey
descends
quiet then hushed
even more silent than
the misted time before.

at the nape of my neck?

a fire

     < a place for fire >

the hearth at which you
can keep warm

and the dark one?
he lives on the shadow side
of the moon.

he never knew the sun.

he did not know.

he will live 100 hundred lives
and it will not be undone.

but now?

 c'est fini.

and what of us who love?

     "we are a bit undone."

yes and hush and . . .

in the deep.

swim the manatee.

and i whisper into her ear,

"people are disappointing"

    ~ even, when they do not mean to be ~

but still she trusts the sea.

and we swim, and we love one another,
we give birth then we die.

we are at peace, dreamless sleep.

you and i.

we are flesh and ash,
dirt and star dust.








but wait,
      (dear sweet, child)

where did she go?

who will eat the butter cream roses
on her birthday cake?


.......................................................................


she came in like a scorpion.
     fierce and ready to fight for what was hers.

birth right and being right, walking
the aisle dressed in white.

but she left, an archer.
     redeemed and afraid, fragile with love.

abandoning clarity for creativity.
relinquishing certainty for tenderness.

letting go the willfulness, to embrace the wide open
           spaces inside her sparking mind.

and though i was broken by her death-trap claw.

i had my own claws, daughter to her mother

     after all.


and even through my eleven thousand cracks,



           one hundred billion sparkles of light shine


                     they speak in deafening hum, the silence


                             quieting the haunted shreds of the angry temple.

and there,

                                                         (hush, hush the silence is growing)

     the mirrors

one after the other
       stacked, against the orange
bricks, aligned and close
           to the fire.

in the reflection, you see
       everything you are,
         
           exactly opposite.

crazy times, whispered lines spinning.

time and space.

the deep, unfathomable waters.

angels fly, their wings
blur, constellations unaware

of their origins.




and in the beginning, i was
surrounded by quiet.

my ocean, the sea, a reflection.

this is un-ending. without edit.

the story, before the story.



we were trees, green and slow to grow.

old growth, undying.

i know hell,
the flames,
the demons,
a devil.

i know heaven,
        i had some peace
       to try, some
           manna to taste.

                                         
                                                        (hush, hush, the wild things are birthing)


these are the things
we find.

earth, third planet,
blue alive and dying.
i did not want to
come, i was tired
deep into my marrow.

but once i drew the
mantle of oxygen
around my shoulders,

i cried for the joy

for the devouring pain
for the love
the fragile beauty

    of it
         
            all.


                                                         (hush, hush, you are wrapped in the loving)


you know and i know.
when the oxygen hits,
everything blue changes.



we are red,
   
             shocked and shocking.

and here, the robin's nest
brimming with the most
fragile of all hope.

there is copper and rust,
koi swimming, tender roots,
poppies blooming,
monarch wing set against blue sky.
patina and worn leather.

beating hearts and tired hearts.
new hearts and a louder beating
beneath all these things.

and all the while, the fire is burning.

i know much about the living.

i know even more about the dying.