fledgling

when you leave
the sun will bake
your newly hatched feet
the world, unbroken
will beckon
each perch, a promise
as you fledge into the living air
eyes shining, head cocked
curious

we’ll watch, keeping still
as the sweltering day
wary of the endlessness
that stretches above and below
our nest, empty at the center
of that old pear tree
the place where safety
comprised the circumference
of your understanding

until now

with possibilities expanding
you’ll stretch mottled feathers
and glide
to where the seed waits
it will feel like pebbles
shifting under your small weight
satiated, you’ll fly again
into the open air, your exit
the path up and out

autumn waits
then winter
beyond this heat, beckoning
an ancient part of your soul
driving you to the place
where the palm trees grow
and the water shines
like sapphire







the eagle and the heron

the heron glides
on silent wings
outstretched—
curtains of dusky blue
that gather the air
like an indrawn breath
and, exhaling
with one vast thrust
of endless feathers,
she rides the wild updraft
long neck tucked, S-shaped
above a narrow breast
landing, stalking
the shallow outskirts
of the river’s bounty
with focused stealth
waiting
always waiting

the eagle, vigilant
sharp-eyed, predatory
all talons and beak
her jagged edges, perched
atop the places that divide
beginnings and endings
the thresholds—
where water meets land
earth meets sky
until the hunt;
a blur of chestnut feathers
she’s crowned
head and tail
in white, grasping
with golden feet
each squirming fish
a piece of glistening fruit






Docked

a stationary ship is the embodiment of tragedy
built for long journeys, Christened with names like
Wind Dancer and Carpe Diem, tethered to the dock
–seizing nothing

as much a fixture as landlocked houses
and roads that wind through every place
but never move. wouldn’t it be something
to see the road drive away?

how many of us are stuck, built to wander
a much bigger world?

I’m nothing like that boat
bobbing and bobbing in one place
with only the changing sky above me
and the changing earth below, tethered
to my life

some things are made to stay in one place

I’m a tree that dies where it stands
taking roots and growing old as my canopy spreads
holding the landscape within my branches
that’s what it means to be a tree


Stratum

the oldest versions are stacked
like layers of dermis, hardened
over years that became decades
until middle age found me
counting the silver strands that shine
like falling stars across the lusterless surface
of my fossilized youth

my first two decades lie frozen
within the merciless amber of time
thin as parchment
delicate as spun sugar, disintegrating
beneath the droplets of years

by my third decade I basked
in the comfort of motherhood
babies in tow, each season a gift
alight with the glimmer
of a connected whole

for the first time, I was more than myself
no longer young, but still young enough
to feel life’s shine

Second Daughter

Born fully feathered, an old soul
a foundling that found us
you came to stay
as if you knew we’d need you

The days are bearable because of you

You carry my befores and afters –
It’s your burden, to hold that part of me
I’m sorry

I regret all the things I couldn’t fix

The world takes everything
except the art and sadness in your eyes
and your wild heart, full of romance
and mischief – Loki, Bacchus, Trickster
all vie to live within you

I’ll never stop wanting to protect you

You’re wise enough to wear the mask of fool
when, really, you’re the hanged man
The world wants to mold you
turn you into something replicated, two dimensional

Fight it

Do you feel folded, an origami girl?
A doll in a chain of paper?

Fight it

May you never be at the mercy
of the hand that holds the scissors

Mourning Doves

The doves have no majesty
they squabble like children
lording over the seed
running across the frozen ground like chickens
tiny heads thrust forward
pecking each other
and the excess that tumbles down,
released by the blue-crowned jay

Doves have no shame
they are pigeons in pale costume
crowding the finches and cardinals
chasing them from their breakfast

Yet when their coo-coo-cooing
speaks to my melancholy
all is forgiven

I wonder what soul scarring tragedy
taught them their song

What monumental loss
wove the sadness into each feathered soul
so that it stayed with every dove
through the endless turning seasons
until, at last, they brought it my yard
where it resonates with my shattered heart

Moon Series 2018 – Day 22

Waxing Gibbous (almost full) – 10:00 p.m.
10/22/18

maybe I’m tired of writing about the moon
maybe I’ve forgotten how to sit still and be alone
maybe I’m terrified of my own quiet mind
reflection leads me down the dark trails
where nostalgia is as sharp as this frigid autumn night

the moon may as well be the sun or a strange planet
or a dream you told me about once
when your hands were small enough to fit into mine
and nightmares scared you

that’s when time felt the most real
and we invented a special place where you could go
filled with warm woods, bright water
and a cabin brimming with stuffed animals
a place built from smoke and memory
a place that kept you safe from bad dreams
a place whose entrance was guarded by dreamcatchers

why not meet me there?
now you can save me from my own bad dreams

Moon Series 2018 – Day 17

Waxing Gibbous – 10:00 p.m. (ish)

I saw it swollen
a pregnant belly
in the 6 o’clock sky
The moon, in plain sight
and again, hours later
when the night was fully dark
as I shivered, rushing the dog
to do his business
so we could get out of the cold

The moon may not have noticed
how I went back on my word
to sit each night
in observation
of every phase

This year’s moon
hangs heavily
as if mourning the burden
of my abandonment,
a grieving moon,
that knows me better
than I know myself

Moon Series 2018 – Day 9

Tuesday, October 9th, 2018 – 9:27 p.m.
Waxing Crescent

I don’t have any expectations
not for the moon or for myself
the sky looks like a backdrop
the stars, too perfect
and much too dim
in the polluted glow
of this bright neighborhood

If I pause to let the blackness
settle in around the stars
they emerge, brighter
and I can see something more
– so much more –
in between each constellation

Where there should have been nothing
there is light
faint, a film that seemed at first
like a shroud
luminous and barely visible
twisting and breathing,
alive

Tonight, maybe the silence was enough

Moon Series 2018 – Day 8

Monday, October 8th, 2018
New Moon

if the moon is new
does that mean we get to start over?

you just had it in your hand
safe and whole
and you swore you’d never lose it
how could you?
it was solid and real, irreplaceable
you weren’t careless
you never looked away, distracted
or did you?
did you put it down only to discover
it’s lost!
or worse, so much worse
maybe you dropped it and
as you reached for it, heart thumping
watched it shatter
it’s gone!
when it was just whole

so what’s real now?
you have pictures
you remember how it felt
the weight of it
but now you’re standing here
without it
and nothing makes sense

you want to look for it forever
because how can it be gone?
you’ll keep searching
until you find it, or
until you accept the new reality
whichever comes first