little silver linings lately

this happened yesterday. more pics to come.

On the plus side

Doesn't it seem that just

When you're exhausted and sick of being sick

You get a little better

Which is about the time you have one of those quiet miracle moments

And have a much-needed chat with a girlfriend

After your husband makes you feel like a hundred chocolate-covered cinnamon bears

And before you take pictures

To gear up for the weekend

Which promises to be just what you needed

{Like always}

To help you remember

That your life is full of silver linings

And the best family of 29 ten-year-olds

And the occasional well-timed word of affirmation, picture in the park, and bowl of ice cream.

Self Portrait

1.31.12.


Just wait one more second,
one quick stab of the smallest needle.
I'll be different then.


Stratford-Upon-Avon
in 1600
when love's labour's were not lost.



Those shadowy mountains,
those bright morning mountains,
those lambent sunset mountains.


Running.
Inhaling the sagebrush air-
gasping for green coolness
800 miles away.


A dusty brocade journal
with a hand-written letter tucked in the front
written all in cursive. One spelling mistake.


Parents gulping poison
and regurgitating waste.
They say "just fix my kid."
I say "your kid has a name."




Two pairs of knees
on the threadbare carpet
at midnight
together.




Comparison,
companionship,
and commonplace angels that invite you to dinner.




The day we dissected a primrose in class.
Tore it apart
with a knife and our fingernails
to see if a soul was inside.




And now - 
one single tick that could be
a quick kiss,
a car door
a smile
a revelation -
and now, I'm someone else.


----


Dedicated to my aunt Julie. Thank you for inspiring me to write, and for being my wedding escort/planner /everything. Thank you for the dinners and the love, and most of all, thank you for saving my life that winter. Happy birthday.


Compare this self portrait to the one I did about a year ago. I wrote this with all-new material, but it contains a lot of old elements. Just like me, I guess.

It Began with Ivy

It began with the ivy

curling up the side of a church

in a small abandoned parking lot.

It began with the rain

landing softly on their faces,

cleansing the ivy.

It began with two hands.

Ten interlocked fingers

growing together gently.

It began with the dance,

more beautiful than music,

quieter than the rain.

It began with hope.

Braided fingers twirling in slow circles

and water kissing their faces.

It began with whispers

from an inclination, feeling, need,

conviction.

Eventually, the entwined fingers

and cooled wet faces

danced on from the parking lot.

But the church,

and the ivy,

and the hope

Are there yet.

Five

This is Sam.

Every time I see this picture,

I laugh

because for some reason

at first glance

it looks like he has six fingers

but don’t worry

he has five

very capable fingers

which he uses

to beat me at Loser

frequently

and to hold my hand

frequently

which is also how often

I realize I need to help out more

with my own five fingers

at home

like Julie,

who uses her five fingers to make us dinner

every

single

Sunday

which is the day I have meetings

after church

for hours

which is okay

because I love my calling

and it’s nice to feel

like I’m putting my five fingers

to good use

for the girls in my Relief Society

even though it’s

small

like the amount of free time

I currently have

small

like the smell of spring

gliding in the air today

five weeks early

and small

like the way my hands feel

when they’re safe

and warm

inside Sam’s

five

capable fingers.

Scream the Loudest

Isn't it a shame

that when people think of Columbine

they picture the national tragedy

instead of the quiet, beautiful wildflower.

Ocean Eyes

An extended metaphor poem I wrote for class. It was a lot different before my teacher made me revise it, and take out the good parts, and then put in better parts. Here's the final thing:

Ocean Eyes

Between soft sandy eyelashes,

Your eyes are windows to the ocean.

Dangerous duke blue, a brilliant cerulean flash,

Green with promise, a silver grey mist;

Always mesmerizing, always changing

As your champagne tide comes, goes, comes again.

Dolphins cavort in the tiny wrinkles I see

When you smile, and when you cry

Tide pools softly bloom.

Sometimes I glimpse,

Between the flashes of sharp salt and soft sand,

Hidden depth, treasure chests and

Secrets buried in the keel of a sunken ship

Locked with a rusted key I’m still searching for.

I’ll play patiently in the sun-bathed foam

Until you surface with the mysteries in your ocean eyes.

Sometimes I Run

Sometimes I run

not to get in shape

but to get away from all the shapes

in my life.

Sometimes I run

and I race my shadow

but I always let it win

because if I came face to face with my shadow

after all these years of chasing

I wouldn’t know what to say to it.

Sometimes I run

until time slows down

stops

goes backward.

And I don’t want to stop running

until time has gone back far enough

to where hugs enveloped you

and cares were lighter than a robin’s egg

and death

was just a rumor

vacationing in a far-off land.

Sometimes I run

to wrap myself in the cool green mist

and soak up as much of it as I can,

to store it for later.

Sometimes I run

until I feel the blood pound in my head

and my muscles scream

and my lungs burst

and it feels so good

to know for certain

that I am

painfully

wonderfully

beautifully

alive.