Six Months Ago

•July 15, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Composed March 2014

Six months ago,
I am fairly certain that you did not exist.
You may think this an ego-centric interpretation of history,
But that was my experience:
You didn’t exist,
And then you did.
Sprung up fully-formed, and with back story,
From the pavement of Hargett Street,
Like Athena springing from the head of Zeus.
An apt analogy,
Because those first few weeks were rather like a story.
Not quite mythological,
But so compact, so well-constructed,
So free of unnecessary details
That it could have been a plot line.
We read it that way at the time,
Beginning to spin the oral tradition
Even before those first few weeks were expired.
But plot doesn’t last forever.
And I’m very glad that it doesn’t,
Because when plot eases its hard line,
Then it’s time to begin living in earnest.
For six months now,
I have lived in earnest, with you in earnest,
Every week learning something new,
About the kind of world which has you in it.

I am now fairly certain that you exist.

Hidden Wonders

•June 18, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Composed November 2013

I am continually surprised by people.
Hidden wonders –
Sometimes very hidden.
Hidden so well, so deeply, you’ll never find them
If you move hastily,
Which you will, most of the time.
The days are short
And you will forget to walk quietly and to listen carefully.
I catch myself forgetting –
Now and again, I pause long enough to remember
That there are hidden wonders
Buried all around me.

From my journal, while in Mexico

•June 14, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I was re-acquainting myself with my journal after neglecting to write in it for an ENTIRE YEAR. I ran across some entries from the time that I was in Mexico with my lovely friend Bethany. Here are some random excerpts:

Composed July 2012, while in Mexico

Excerpt #1:

that, too, is life
knowing the body
exploring its edges
tasting the limitations of flesh

Excerpt #2:

she knows what she likes
she knows what she doesn’t like
oh, how she knows
these things are with her every day
soothing and biting
prodding her toward pastures
that she hopes are green and cool
where like and dislike melt into being
and contentment


•November 3, 2013 • 1 Comment

Composed Fall 2013

If you look quite closely, you will see a flock of birds nesting in my rafters.
If you listen quite carefully, you will hear them at rest,
Cooing and sighing between the narrow shafts of light,
Rustling their feathers and then being still.
But, please — only look, only listen.
When I speak too loudly, walk too imprecisely
It startles them, there in that small, close space.
Suddenly they will wing upward,
Colliding, elbowing, diving,
Shaking all of the old dust up in to the air.
Best to leave them be.

Personal Space

•November 3, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Composed Spring 2012

I bump your foot under the table.
A small shuffle ensues, strange in its significance.
The small patch of rubber on my shoe,
not worthy of a passing thought on most occasions,
suddenly assumes a delicate meaning
when it touches the small patch of canvas on yours.
Why this meaning?
Why the need for subtle and careful translation of breath and glance and face?
It is an odd and ancient dance that we are dancing.
A rite observed to atone for violating the boundary between two sacred spaces.

Long and Short

•October 15, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Composed April 2013

One more glass of wine, thanks
Beneath the lazy supper lights
With the baby rustling sweet and low
And the house shut for the night
Everyone is weighted long
Nearly dripping from their chairs
The day is long, the day is short,
And for a moment no one cares.

One more year gone by, thanks
Beneath the pollen and the waves
Beneath the thickening suspicion
That I’ve lost more than I’ve saved
But in that battered up apartment
With my bother, sister there
Yeah, life is long and life is short,
But for a moment I don’t care.

Slow Rise

•October 13, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Composed April 2013

My heart moves with the weather.
I feel the slow rise of spring come up under me
Like a wave on the Carolina shoreline –
Moving for itself and not for me,
But moving me nonetheless.
Moving me like a plot twist moves the beloved protagonist
Out in to a fast moving current of dramatic intent,
I am primed and ready.
So slap that sunlight on my face
The way you’d slap in an Energizer battery
And point me in the right direction.
Something’s bound to happen.


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