Posted in Poems, Updates and Musings

Down to the river at first light | Vermont

they tell me autumn is a time for death, but this is only another quality of life.

The river’s voice is louder now, I want to swim, but it is snowing and the trees no longer protect naked bodies from view.  I kneel and listen.

She sings, wild. I sip of my tea and this is the same water in her body, in mine.  All water is connected, all water is love, all water is life, all water is sacred, all water leads to home.

The source!  I do not see this, but still I KNOW this.  (A mountain spring) within me.  All water be free. Yes!

The water rushes high, river bed full.  Keeping the rocks on the bank wet and warm enough to stay without snow.  The undersides of the trees, too, are bare and the world grows light.

Colors take their qualities into their own hands, dancing in the freedom to dress up in their winter finest.  Together, the earliest part of morning colors and I, run amok.

Panting, breathless now. I am arrived, whole, whole hearted, hearty, and revived.  Inhale, there is movement in my peripheral vision.  Hello shadows.  Good morning spirits and ancient ones.  Thank you for joining me.

My tea is chilled now and I take baby steps back the way I came, not backwards at all.

Good morning wild ones.  Good morning soul and good morning heart.  Yes.

It is morning. Now.

Posted in Photographs, Poems, Travel

desert stars

the wind does not pull me subtly from sleep but wake my nylon nest into waves, creating an ocean in the land with no water.
I am encouraged to emerge and this land is singing, making no movement to elevate itself towards the sky nor emulate his light but thanking the sky from her very core, the earth and the atmosphere dance to each other’s blessings; these desert stars are magic.

I’d like to dance, too, nestled in the dry sand, laying on my back, this is soaking in the earth, grounding, thanking the sky for the depth of its mystery.

This is good to be alive, this is good to be awake in the middle of night.

excerpts from the days on the train

Posted in Photographs, Travel, Updates and Musings

October again

leaves hit the sky with their vibrance at six in the morning it is still not quite light out, but my eyes are wides open.  I am many things, rested not among them but early morning is my favorite time of day.

I watch the day grow lighter, shivering on these unattached steps waiting for the biggest shiver to send me in through the doors to warm tea.  Then I am no longer in someone else’s bed.   I take pen to paper then stop and hunt long kisses just before saying goodbye.  I don’t like to be caught with what I have found.  I write again, in the fall, not in intention but out of necessity, the only way to keep my fingers warm and my mind unfrozen.  Timer buzz, it is afternoon now, time for dinner soon and warm out of the oven.  —


Then, it has been a week.  I sit for few moments yet upon a bus, one side of this bookend that will be four days.  A car ride, a bus ride, two train rides, a bus ride, a car ride.  This is exciting, though I had not known how to let it be such for many months.  Only knew that westward bound one of these days I would be. So two false starts, and then here I am, on my way for real.

I smell chicken soup, strange for a bus.  I tried to write this in stillness as I rested my soul in fairyland, but now I have taken that well fed body of mine into this bus and I find it is comfortable here, too.   Contentment is not a place, but something I carry with me.  So from Maine to California I embark.  Across this country into corners I have never been, we will see.  Lately I’ve been listening to music I haven’t heard since I was fifteen.  Wondering who I have turned out to be, and who it is I will turn into, but then again, just happy to be me.

One day, the fall will remind me to hibernate, because I can feel this in my soul, but now I travel through the rain.  We will see where and when I will be.  I have learned that confusion may be relevant, that it does not have to pull me into a dream state, and that sometimes it is okay if I am angry.  And when I learned that, I learned that growing pains are true and real, and every seed has a breaking point, and I’m learning what it means to stretch my roots out. They may grow slowly, but they still grow.  And when I learned this I learned that it’s okay to be happy, again, in myself. I remembered that happiness and sadness are not exclusive.

This is about me, my dream last night.  I spoke to someone who wasn’t there, and he asked me why I was walking in a direction I did not mean to go, then I opened doors and let them sit while I boarded a plan. You, and he, and the oak tree on the other side.  Even my mama was there, and I let her be.  I sit with oak leaves and poems I wrote earlier this week about how I was learning to be still in a space.  Everything, again, is not only okay but exactly as it’s meant to be.  I know this, because I dreamt about the bus station I arrived at this morning. I had never been there before.

I wonder if my life will always be perfect puzzle pieces.  When I was seven years old, I wondered who the people on the train were that slept in their chair and not in a room with their parents. I wondered how, and why. I watched them doze and wanted to know them. Tonight I will become one among their ranks, and dream well of places I do not yet know.

Posted in Poems

I am thinking of fear,
splayed across the page like blood
but I cannot read you the verses, I trip over my tongue and grin at your eyes, I am weeping.
And all of this for what? To protect my heart that has already leapt out of my chest and ripped off its clothes and said “this ribcage will not contain me!”
then, run free.
So who am I to judge which parts of me need protection? This is what bones are for, and I know in my deepest self that the only true home I know is my skin, my thin aching skin, which tears upon rocks
but holds me
she holds me, she holds me, I’m

Maybe I left the stars to live in this earthbound form to remember how to love again, and I love you long like sister friend, I love you long like I am not scared, I love you long like I know only this language of soft touch on touch on tears.

This is not sad, but something else.
Do we even dare ask?
Slower circles now,
then pause

and sleep.
No more nightmares for me,
and I plant greens in my empty ribcage

and forgive my bones for doing what I grew them to do

and remind myself they are there
I cannot protect what has already left me and I am not mother, or somedays even child but always always someone, only sometimes whole but there is enough of me, even if I am sometimes spread thin
I fill myself up with cartilage when I have forgotten muscle stretch,
this is not the end,
only a way to delay the sun.

Posted in Paint and ink, Poems

wild child

oh to dance I breathe in the wild night air, the chill shivering down my insides till it fills me breathless I am moon child, buck naked, buck wild, wild child, running wild, barefoot for a while now, oh just to dance oh just to be alive.