Castles In the Waves
My son sits in the waves,
slapping sand into a castle,
screaming every time
a wave breaches the wall.
I indulge him, smile
at his innocence
forgetting that I, too,
build castles in the waves.
I slap sand on my career,
ministry, motherhood,
restlessly agitate at the next
thing…
worry
worry
worry
I forget all is mist,
a castle in the waves.
Ann Patchett Annotated Her Most Famous Novel
Renovation
I am painting the hallway a deep,
rich green while the president
is painting the country a shallow,
gaudy white. It was fine before,
the hall anyway, a nice neutral
gray. But now is not the time
to be neutral. My rage is too dark
for me to wear so I roll it out
onto the wall. I work carefully,
but not gently. When I’m done I sink
to the floor and watch my anger
drown in Vintage Teal.
In the Middle of a Panic Attack
It’s like
I can’t
Breathe
Like
There isn’t
Enough
Air
Like I
Might die
Like I
Can’t
Catch my
Breath
Like my
Chest
Might
Explode
Like I’m
Running for
My life
As I stand
In the
Shower
Sea Glass
It's just litter made into something beautiful after being tumbled around and around in the same seas for years
And so it goes with the sad stories of my life
The themes I can't help but return to again and again
The fragments made beautiful through brokenness that return to me each time the tide comes in
I sift through them on the beach
Turn their smooth coolness in my palm before I toss them back out
And wait for the familiar glimmer to return again
Do No Harm
I found myself wearing fish guts on the other side of a second
because my big brother brought salutes for the sunnies.
It’s just the kind of stupid shit slate quarry kids do.
The scale of the damage was too much.
And no amount of tomboy
in my little-sister heart could keep me
from tattling
about the tail that twitched
between the bite of a buck knife
and a tree that barked.
I really do not know if this catches
anything close to the truth,
but in order to do no harm,
do we need to see harm done?
Because we can only imagine
it’s awful.
My Heart Says She Aches
My heart says she aches
for gentleness, but
she keeps turning backward,
hungry for twisted absolution.
She wants to kick off her shoes
and run until she has to stop,
air burning through her, wild,
and conscious for once. But there’s settledness
in sorting it all into boxes,
weighing the contents, printing labels,
shoving them into cobwebbed attic corners.
Dusting her hands. It’s all taken
care of, stacked on storage shelves,
out of sight, out of mind. She wants
to be unsettled. She wants tangled
hair and overgrown dreams. Sometimes,
she wants someone to draw her a map,
if only to ignore the trails and blaze
her own. She has to do it herself, though.
There’s no one to push her from the plane.
She’s the only one who can step into the sky.
The Scarf
At a red light at the corner bus stop,
a man with a scarf stops me in my tracks.
Maybe it’s because I don’t see scarves
like this anymore. Most people this far north
wear balaclavas, fleece gaiters, ski masks.
To wear a scarf like this means someone
took the time to put it on, just so.
Certainly, it could have been him.
I understand this.
Still, I need to believe
he has someone back home
who wrapped the length of wool
around his neck, worked the long end
through the looping fabric, pulled it snug
over his mouth and nose before tucking
the fringed ends into the collar of his coat.
There, this person might have said,
zipping up his jacket one inch higher
before ushering him out into the cold.
I want to believe again in a world
where we care for one another
in these small, tender ways.
Where we say, Listen,
it’s freezing out there.
Where we take the scarf
and wrap the ones we love
with everything we have to offer.
Where we tuck the fringed ends
into their coat, saying, There.
Where we zip up their jacket
one inch higher
before ushering them
out into their life.
My Neighbors Think I’m Crazy, I Don’t Notice
Release your expectations, your to dos clenched in your fist,
muscles straining, fingernails leaving half moons in your palms.
Uncurl your fingers, open the door, step outside.
Do you see it? How can a January sky be so blue, so big?
Take your shoes off, socks too.
Do you feel it? Soft crunch of hibernated grass between your toes?
Throw your arms open wide to the sun.
Close your eyes, throw your head back.
Let her warmth tickle your cheeks, let her hear your laugh.
Your bare feet kiss the earth
Winter air awakens your body
Wind whispers sweet nothings
You’re here, you’re you, you’re enough.
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
These words make me speechless. Brava, to each and every one of you.
So many beauty! The misty sand and more!! The scarf, there. Love it all!