Like many others on the blogs I follow I have been submitting my writing to publishers. In the push to get some of my work published I’ve come across some of the familiar, old, reliable doubts and fears of mine and a couple of insights that I thought would be cool to share.
To our sons or daughters,
You have nothing to be ashamed of, whatever it is that they mock you for, it is also them;
There is nothing that belongs to you that is not also theirs.
The streets are hungry and the alleyways hungrier still, and you will find in your own way that language is only yours and that miles divide us what is right here next to each other.
So don’t be afraid to stand on your own. Don’t be discouraged that they have what you seem unable to possess; if it is possessable at all you too already have it.
Whatever it is you fear that you are, in solitude, alone, know that it was made right here in the interconnectedness of all things, in this world.
Whatever you fear you have made others into, know that you have that capability and choose to make things well;
your pain is their pain, as their pain is yours.
i had a daydream then,
as i was being drawn to the noose
someone in the crowd yelled,
it was so vivid
as echoes on the old stone walls.
the rope squeezed
and i realized
i’ve been traversing
inside my own mind,
while running the treadmill.
They talk and they
twist memories out
from the aether, spin-
ning them over and
again into new dramas —
each one sheds
light; a spotlight
of information. They
are like one mind
thinking over the past
laughing at long-
finding new ground
to stand on
It’s lunchtime and here I am sitting in my van
parked in a grocery store parking lot, blowing my
nose in a used napkin. A napkin previously used to
blow my nose. Homemade vinaigrette sits on the dash
in hopes that the December sun is heavy enough to break
through the overcast and liquefy the coagulated coconut oil.
It won’t. And I realize that if I were sitting in my
Prius, instead of my work van, I would satisfy so many
generalizations right now; with my pony-tail, writing
poetry, drinking kombucha. Maybe I don’t need
the Prius after all. Maybe the Prius needs me.
And the high-schoolers yell at each other across
the parking lot, desperate for attention, while the stay-at-home moms sit
in their vans, just a little longer, enjoying the silence that comes
from an afternoon car-ride nap. If I listen closely,
the trafficswells become fingertips of the ocean, trying
to pull me back into Her, while the douglas-fir gently wave goodbye.
I’m just throwing incendiaries into the dark, to light this place up, hoping to catch a picture of what’s really going on.
by the hunt.
To find that
of elder pine
on the least
only proven path.
or my bosses.
I won’t even tell
Only run it
of my mind,
to the land.