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A Wednesday Morning Poem
Filling Station by Elizabeth Bishop Oh, but it is dirty! –this little filling station, oil-soaked, oil-permeated to a disturbing, over-all black translucency. Be careful with that match! Read the rest...
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Awake, and it is morning, and the streets are flooded
Stations of the Cross, 2008 – Based on a photo of an Iraqi mother having just lost her son. dawn woke to find itself dragging a fear stricken man between this marble floor and the next grief piled upon...
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Of Ends
Are there ends to our forgiveness? Ends we don’t see until we reach them. Deceit, betrayal, violence. Can we spot them before our very bones are broken upon them, our better selves tumbling over the...
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Sunbreaks
The sky is made of steel here but once in a while the sun’s diamond-bladed rays pierce through. The heart of heaven bared for a brief moment to break across these jagged western mountains; our...
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The Peace of Wild Things
THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake...
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Come fire
The hot winds, the deafening crackling, the fire descending on them whipping around the tiny wooden room. Certain they would suffocate here, together, the story extinguished in smothering clouds and...
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Flowers in Dried Earth (Pine Ridge Reservation, SD)
Grey and tired the land lay not resigned but exhausted skin bleached to clean the stains of fallen warriors the hush of the wind a reminder of the fragility of this peace the silent grasses an empty...
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Friday Art Day
Take a moment this morning to think of your favorite poem, the words that re-sync your voice to your soul, that reach down in you to pull some bit of forgotten self to the surface and look it squarely...
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A Sadness
The pool’s edges glitter with turquoise and sky at the touch of my light, the only warmth in this throne room of unknown gods hundreds of feet beneath the sun-beaten Texas hills. Cradled in white...
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Thoughts for Thursday
What Was Told, That by Jalal al-Din Rumi translated by Coleman Barks What was said to the rose that made it open was said to me here in my chest. What was told the cypress that made it strong and...
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Thoughts for Thursday
I love Neil Gaiman. More specifically, I love to hear him read his works. (or anything, for that matter.) I heard an interview (probably on NPR) about how he loves audiobooks and how he tries to read...
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Untouchable
race is every where in my world in a way it has never been before the exchange of money the palm to palm and mouth to mouth of words rings through my mind and body in constant clarity front loaded...
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How can I keep from singing?
I get chills and can barely choke out the words whenever we sing this hymn. [there are tons of versions of this song, but this was the one that most satisfied my inner church lady... plus, holy moly,...
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Thoughts for Thursday
“Why I Wake Early” by Mary Oliver Hello, sun in my face. Hello, you who made the morning and spread it over the fields and into the faces of the tulips and the nodding morning glories, and into the...
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Wage Peace: A Prayer
Wage peace with your breath. Breathe in firemen and rubble, breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds. Breathe in terrorists and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown...
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Thoughts for Thursday
An Altogether Different Language By Anne Porter There was a church in Umbria, Little Portion, Already old eight hundred years ago. It was abandoned and in disrepair But it was called St. Mary of the...
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