a cup of stars

Hand raptured melody ; like a fragment of a memory ; sleeping on top of my roof at 16, the September I learned what the stars looked like from on top of my house ; lay on the cement, slept with pulled blanket just next to the edge, never rolling off, and we stared and talked about boys and wondered what our futures would hold ; we wondered what sex would feel like ; we discussed the song that was playing in the van when you made out with that senior during free period and the thought of him was driving you wild // Somehow now the tears singe my eyelashes because friendship feels like a cup of stars you cannot hold ; a couple little girls lying on a rooftop in September waiting for the phone to ring ; the chill bell of tomorrow waiting to ring ; your wedding bells waiting to ring ;; and I miss you sharp incision of wit, cleverness and wilderness, I distain the way we grew up and lost our flippers and fins // the boldness of reverie // I disdain time and what it has taken away

The leaves are still emerald but the cold comes whipping through soft air, the high grass, the lily pads, and the branches drifting in the water like lonely soldiers ;; the yellow dots the roadways ; the flowers pluming up in disarray ; the curled conscience of the world

the first Red leaf

As long as you feel the air around you, you are fine / as long as you feel the day around you, with its tendrils, its curling spine, the wandering light and the peak of cold dipping in between the shadows, you are fine ;; focus your perception on the senses around you ;; your wild ears that get to hear the birds call, the grass whisper, and if you are so lucky, a body of water that sings back –– if you are so lucky, sing towards a new day — collapsed words, endless day, crease towards branches that are still buried in the muck, in the marsh of summer –– carry your sadness as a totem around your neck, march towards tomorrow with abandon ;; what have I done to deserve this endless day

The communion, the way things all touch and touch back –– the way it is all of the things : the whole forest all together at the same time, and each singular piece and its own existence as well ;; each leaf each tree each root and all the same entire mountain all together

Because everything is a relationship ; a way of interacting with the world

Fall in love with the world over and over again / fall in love with the world a hundred times over / fall in love with the fresh, first breath of air in the morning ; with the first Red leaf that falls from the trees in September ; fall in love with the small rocks on the path ; with the moss covering the ground in shades of emerald ; fall in love with the bark on the trees ; the eyes that look through everything ; the conscious Forest ; the bones of the mountain pulling up out of the ground every so often ;; the whole beast of it, and that we get to enter into this world // how alien to be formed / what a gift to be formed –– I get to feel so many things, so many wild, insatiable things : but the wind and the clouds and the roots perhaps know not of the horrible pain, the exhaustion in the back of my spine, the wild and wonderful thing it is to exist in a body

the sacred is just a seeing space : a clarity of mind
the recognition of the sacredness of every single thing around you
the divine is just a set of eyes

september welcomes you with gentle, warm rain pattering on the roof and a still languid chorus of insect chatter

be gentle with yourself, the world is still a spinning web trying to find you;; the hearts of insects still beat in the night, the fluttering wings of flowers still are yet to open — curling days sit on the edge of the bathtub with you, everything sits in silent splendor at one moment or another — and yours, truly, is always here; is coming endlessly; a silent train on the endless tracks of rubber and steel that forge their way across the roots of this country; or any country; any wild moon will thump through the evening’s mist, but this one today is everlastingly yours

cambridge, maryland

River blossom marsh water, in the squish of it, along the lines of curving pathways — the houses cobble together old pillars and silent wood frames , to arrange themselves an the ornamentation against gravity. On the Chesapeake Bay the water laps against our boat and we sail past small islands, seaside houses — opulence betrays the eye, the oysters hunker themselves at the bottom of the Bay; waiting; depleted; filtering what they can through their small and stony mouths ;; the bay drinks itself through its own tongue, lungs gasp at the jellyfish; we walk along the dock, three quarters wrapping around the brightest lighthouse on the eastern seaboard, it seems; the twilight comes to meet us as we walk towards it; and night comes to sit with us — the echo of something grandiose and wild laughing in the light tapping against the dock, pearling in the boats, the sails touching the twilight colors as well; the drift and bounce of the rock as they sway, a lullaby enough to sing the last fireflies of August to sleep. You run desperately to catch them – a poem in your own feet, laughing, and a gentleness you have now learned to approach these bugs with — they settle into the grass, tired now it seems, from a whole season of dancing — they too want to slumber now, tuck in and turn off their lights; but the horizon still glows on the edge of the dock, and you still have questions to be answered — and I will always try to answer them by showing you the light reflected on the water — answers enough for anyone

historic courthouse, centreville, maryland

Hollowed out firmament of Justice; bricks painted white , stacked by hands whose ash now billows about the roots of these structures : these structures that never deteriorate , the perfect path lined with green grass , the perfect lilies placed around a statue of Queen Anne ; the endless monarchy and oligarchy of something we come to pray to :: the precipice of judgement whose hand sits in gavels long-since hammered away ; hammering away sentences, not paragraphs — just sound bites, not full context — just pieces of pieces of lives lost; and laws held and upheld like a handful of marbles jangling, with all the light that passes through them, and all the air that sits at the edge of the spherical shape;; the way we hold on to history like a sack full of old coins that no longer hold any value — but the sound of the jangle pleases our ear so; the jangle of the jail cells ring too; the clink of old metal and salvaged chunks of wrought iron that once brought the iron fist to some wishless land;; the wish-list landed on this lapping shoreland; this Plymouth Rock-edged cliff; the sound of the jangle observes us observing it; and continues to sing

the month wraps around me – a cloud of haphazard seeming nothing-ness, a curtain of time zipped through the sweater — i wish i could be of more help, of more use, i wish i did not feel guilt for not being able to physically help ; i try to rest inside of my little body, be at peace with myself, be at fundamental solace – i am grateful for my hands, and what they make; i am grateful for my son, and how he smiles up at me through his eyes and claps wildly at the silliest of incantations; i am grateful for the sun, the rain, the bursts of spring that sing at my sides; i am grateful for the sound of the wind blowing through the branches, for food and clean water, for joy and safety ; i am hoping for everyone, for all things, for all beginnings to begin again;; i am hoping

what riveting birth

To release the wheels ; to let myself release ; to wade into the muck of an uncertainty – to feel the spring bud all around you towards the starlight – i can do most anything inside of the spring ; I can withstand most anything inside of the marsh of the madness of March – the drooping tendrils of April and the fiery blossom sun of May –– I can do most anything / I can let my tapping fingers set themselves down / I can see new pathways, break all habits, forge new patterns, look at my time not like a metronome but like a ball of wild weeds cunningly spitting up from the Earth ; I can be the crazed bud season – I can pull myself towards the rooted structures that feed the banks of the canal ; the wild lettuce growing in patches out of the mud ; the air so filled with the smells of birth – no death rattling through the air anymore – the endless, endless chime of more than enough time to possibly know what to do with ;; what riveting birth

A wave of creative hum ; the slight smile at the end of the big Dipper dipping into the old world ; the ocean of timelessness – adolescent wish me knots and time worth tasting on the tip of your tongue – days worth wasting stacked on top of one another , making a selection of fossils waiting to one day be admired , millennia in the future

If this is all I had of my life , this would have been enough – these 20 some odd years ; the piles of sweet summer days hunkered beneath my left knee ; the traces of spring afternoons laced into my tibia ; my DNA will sing of blissful captures ; moments ratcheted into my brain cells ; hunks of breath laced into my lungs ; the best tasting laughter ; the medicine of always more – the growing towards creating – the moving towards the NeverEnding coming / if this is it, this was enough / I am grateful for this / I will always be grateful for these years I have lived so blissfully / and if we walk towards despair , towards economic depression , I am not afraid of what loss I will live through – this has been enough already , and the gratitude of my limbs reaching towards the yellow road lines paved down the street – the aching twist of freedom , that I got to run at all , that I got to stand inside of crowds of people and feel the energy of oneness at all , that I got to be doused in the rain in a concert sprinting through the all of us , that I got to race down the highway laughing with friends , fumbling into party , stumbling into bar , curled up in a sleepover , warped through a meadow, a bunch of people lying in the grass strumming some guitar , wading through some soft river , adventuring with strangers – that I got to do any of these things at all – that my body got to be blessed with all of these adventures ; all of these theatre’s , all of these casts , all of these strange creations with people I didn’t know who then became family , that I got to camp , that I got to trust any stranger next to me – who could ask for any more than this ;; I hope against hope for Jamie, that he will get to experience , that he will get to grow and unfurl ; and whatever children I have yet to be a part of ;; no answers anymore , just more questions stacked on top of one another ; but I will be there and I will be fearless , and I will try and try again to remember my fearlessness no matter how many times I forget, or misplace it, or place it on top of another person, I am always this fearless, this strong, this hopeful

will it take us

How do I live in service ; how do I live in joy ; how do we all live in community and giving and thanks and gratitude and awe of the incredible planet we inhabit — I can finish my words and I can hope that they speak to someone , I can be a good mother , I can be kind to friends , selfless, without vanity, aware of what feeds jealousy, pain and self comparison , I can be honest with myself and with others , I can be vulnerable and show that as an example – how we never need to be afraid of our own hearts – our only beating everythings ; I can be myself and show that we always can feel comfortable in our own skin / what if this is the dream come true in the strangest form possible : not violent revolution or bloody upheaval or confused economic battling but finally, finally the mother Earth itself spitting up and attacking back – a purging no less violent than the cross-cutting of a forest fire – for the way all things must die in order to make room for the next – the way the Earth always cleanses itself ; knows how to cleanse itself ; what if it isn’t the death but the upheaval ;; what if we show without a doubt that we are all one – beyond border, Nation, language, religion / what if it is proven as clear as day / what if the economy has to flip on its head simply because it has to respond / what if this is the earth responding and we have to respond back / but if it is always a little bit of chaos and a little bit of divinity and a little but of everything else, what if it is the chime of a beating heart / an antibody that rejects toxicity ; what if this is transformation and inherent universal catalyst it has to happen; beyond blame and what if what it shows is that humans are better than we ever give them credit for – that creativity and living and inhabiting our bodies is absolutely vital to our health and happiness ; that getting outside and communing and being together is what our bodies crave ; that we will help each other rather than compete against one another in our nature ; and that economic redistribution is what we truly truly need in order to combat crises and in order to live in a sustainable way ; what if we learned to dig our fingers into the soil and recognize that we are all interconnected and that we must seek joy and bliss over anything else // springtime lightraya shining through any and all pains / the buds that always come back – call us out of our skin – they call us out of our boxes and the useless competition we place on the other / the useless ascent towards profit , towards progress , towards accomplishing nothing at all , but we lack the recognition of the everyday grace of inhabiting a body ; inhabiting this world and sharing community with one another / but if we remember that — if we have to remember that — what if we necessarily have to follow upheaval where it will take us — and where will it take us

out damned spot

that house isn’t even blue anymore; it’s white now ; our scraps of memories tossed into the lake – the fresh scent of paint an everlasting reminder that the season comes again ; but the season does not stop tapping at the window ; and my reticent piles of privilege sit around me, just minutes from Trenton and we all find it so easy to sit and gaze at our new paint job and marvel at what wonders feel new and never wrap our hands around to the injustice of space topography geography and the geology of hierarchy which pummels our streets, our laid-bare foundations ; our tread-fast towns set next to one another ; blind eye after blind eye so normalized to the stratification – the sharp angles that twitch in statistics – the high schools stretch towards ivy league acceptance and the high schools just 15 minutes away where danger is an ever-present thrust // the revolution that needs to come, the rotating cries, a revolution that never ends through history ; hail back through the ages – an endless shuttering cry to be seen to not have a blind eye turned / we don’t want to see, we don’t want to know, we don’t want to have to care, we want to keep glorifying our own bloody hands / Lady Macbeth, teach us how to give a shit that we have blood on our hands at all – give us the awareness that we should even try to wash our hands clean ; because endlessly, endlessly we seem as if we are not even aware of the crimson stains — out damned motherfucking spot of endless corruption greed inequality – out damned motherfucking spot – and moreso, pluck my eyes out that I need not even know, let me equivocate and balance hate and radiate through my own fear that we should even ask for anything more – let me be so terrified of a specter that I somehow condition myself to believe that to ask for more is a foolish game.

endless and endless

you press your hand into mine – an immeasurable gift; i trace your still-tiny toes as they tuck up against my belly under the blanket  — you smile some knowing smile i know not when you grew into – some bundle of knowledge that has blown through your brain ; i look at you and sometimes astonish myself with how large you seem, how grown up – the maturity just beginning to peak out in the smallest of features, the way you look when you’re concentrating on a problem, the tuft of your nose beginning to sharpen your features ever so slightly – the small mannerisms of language you add to acknowledge awkwardness or self-awareness of your own social foible (i cringe at this awareness, as i prayed you’d never have to meet it) ;; your giggle still sounds full toddler-abandon, when i get you to belly laugh from way beyond social convention , you still gaze in awe and wonder at beautiful things, ask for rainbows, sing to your stuffed animals, the sweetest pitch of a voice climbing over a perfect hill — you still ask for snuggles, greet my hand with welcome, nuzzle on to my leg — but you tell me you know things too, when i remind you of them ; you start to wander down your own path, when we walk together in the woods ; you start to groan when i ask you how your day was ; sometimes i even feel the first twinge of embarassment from you when i ask hold you at just too public of a moment — you grow up and out and away and towards, and still i know the love i have showered all over you was the best thing i have ever done with my life ; still i know it comes up endless and endless, and it will never stop being my greatest accomplishment : loving you, and watching you grow just your own way