Whose rage is so big to fracture her small arm his tiny skull? It's a family matter say the people here our hands are tied But I am old enough to know she did not disobey he did not fall
Author: Elizabeth Maynard
One of my many fatal flaws: Optimism in the face of tragedy At Pompeii I would have been the one to say maybe this isn't all bad at least the ash will preserve us
I look at the bed and realize you will be here soon enough and for the whole rest of time as I know it It will become our bed our home So maybe savor these last few minutes, days alone? There will be precious little emptiness in the years ahead
You are afraid of what others might say how it looks to be seen with me. I'm ready to take my tender heart home. Better to be sad about what is real than what is imagined. So that's why I ask: why so worried? what story have you spun for yourself about this about any of this?
Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.Joy Harjo
Watch your mind: how it paces and frets! There is wisdom, deeper you remind me the true feast is there
365 A Year of Poems
I feared an arduous task then words sought me found me wooed and won it was not quest but surrender
A year ago I accepted the challenge to write and share a poem a day for 100 days. Those first 100 days were such a meaningful experience to me that I kept going. Today marks 365…and I’ll be back at it tomorrow with 366. Some of the pieces from this last year have been posted to this blog, and more will follow. I am grateful to the poets in the Shanghai Writing Workshop/Inkwell who have gifted so much wisdom and encouragement, and to you, dear reader, for stopping in here.
Wondering if you can do the beautiful thing you’ve been meaning to do? I believe in you. Begin today.
I have broken English and every other language I once knew Then: I had much to say Now: silence sighing and the crumbs of words Francais Portugues Putonghua Bahasa: all shot through Where there was sound: now only light
This is not my work to do to heal or understand you
I was that woman walking home tonight on the cold and crowded street arms so full of flowers you could not see the twinkling lights of my tears
I love the way you walk right across the room and introduce yourself to me You are a man on a mission I, your aim Every day you beam that bright smile at me and for a dozen breaths here we are, two We see each other and say: Oh, it's you Yes, it's you.