Tag Archives: Impermanence

bone soup

15 Apr

making a bone broth of me

cooking tendons of need

clear down

delicious fat and richness

from my full bodiment

boiled down

caramelized shame

fire roasted shame

fig leaf soaked shame

layers

of collective legs

there, tasted in the slurp

hot from a dipping spoon

you are here

not in the soup line

but in the building nonetheless

familiar with the recipe

available for consultation

with the apprentice

master

all in one

thank you pot

and water

and flame

and thank you space

and atmosphere

in which it all can happen

and in which we all

can hear the dinner bell

now with liquid ears of

life.

 

we haven’t reached the end of words, yet

17 Mar

The passage ending in a lowering ceiling closing in,

my view of dim, withering, repeating of days,

somehow was only respite

much needed in the overwhelm of noise,

in hindsight

tasty silence,

when surprise!

came new words

or words strung together in different ways

than seems possible

a sky

with the power to melt rock

which I can not replicate here in my simple ways

but the words of others who found me

took on the form of keys to a door

of not-alone-in-this

Here it is, the power-

the words for

what is felt yet unnamed

which can create

connecting streams

that until now, for me, a single, confused droplet,

to the ocean unseen.

Thank you poets

but also too painters, body dancers, cooks (in your own form of words)

who jumped into my sternum tightness, my adam’s apple blockage,

my longing stuck,

and released me

and started blood to flow again.

I’ve curled up here,

allowing a wordless doom

to creep too close,

but birth it comes again, a gift.

Here I am, alone/backed by an army

of deep breathers

with courage to call out truth-

is ugly in its composting phases-

unashamed for my muddy footprints

for carcasses left

in the wake of this empty

fragrance

with my name

moving

on

 

the turkey and the chef

17 Nov

In the pan

browning on all sides of

my cubist self–forward, back, and side at once.

edge living

is hot!

 

at times I try to jump from the flame,

my own juice

basting over my head

a humiliating baptism to the one

who has forgotten

the agreement of what’s for dinner.

the hairs on my arms seek like radars

trying to read the flames’ intention; even though,

I signed a waiver.

 

veins pulse while

the heart is in its throws–

 

with or without me along.

I’m  cooked so long

falling off the bone

tender

tender

who sees the anxious fingers

slip into the pan

to satisfy the longing

for a preview bite

of this upcoming feast?

 

 

 

 

 

parenting by powerpoint

17 Mar

Everyday bad things happen, so-

I’ve drawn you a flow chart

to take you from point a to z

with arrows to the short cuts

so roughly won by me.

Let me help you jump over ditches

and avoid the dead-end streets.

Watch my greatest hits of

heartache, thought addiction, faux pas, shame, fear, regret,

so you can save yourself the trouble.

Look, simply, I can help you

avoid the ramifications of not heeding good advice.

I didn’t even know I had it in me, as non-linear as I can be,

to map it out for you, but I did;  I’ve a crash course on not crashing.

But I’m being asked another task, much different than what I’ve done.

The night now asks me to have a courage I don’t know how to muster –

I’m now to be the watcher and not the player and not the coach.

I’m now to calm my plotting mind.

I’m instructed not to imagine trains flying off of their tracks

even while I feel the lurch and screech

of the metal momentum – see sparking in the air.

I’m to observe as boats sink, as elevators release and fall,

as villains creep most uncartoon-like in dark shadows when you pass by;

who orchestrates such visions – where are the views of nature walks, of laughter,

of joy?   Why the fear, why the wrecks, why the destruction?

Why am I thinking of how my parents must have ached and quaked

sitting in hospital rooms, listening to white coat protocol-

powerless

except to release a real-life child to death, to unthinkable death.

I mouthed the words but I didn’t register the meaning –

because I’m still on the simpler fare—

that love is holding the tongue

and squeezing my own trembling body while

I watch and allow.

I am unable to live for another,

unable to undo words,

unable to iron out the wrinkles

of the kinks forming in the plan.

The night brings what the day allows me to hide.

The learning is only ever mine

and it can only be postponed, never avoided altogether;

now or later is  the only choice I get to make.

 

moments

10 Nov

my gut tightens from a sound

angry voices rise outside

peering out the peep hole

giving space to work things out

i’ll check for my mail later

*****************************

sensing something’s wrong

is the start to make it right

all are welcome here

****************************

muscles in the jaw

set our teeth for war in cars

throw away the clock

****************************

corners of my eyes

wabi sabi wrinkles

I’m folding into me

****************************

all i see is good

always has it been –

just just –

twinkle berry

flower cactus

solo cat

its time for tea

again

need want both

20 Sep

the movement to fill the belly is a vow

at least for now

to continue on in the journey of the body

to fulfill the need

that being human

makes me have.

we play the game

we all must do the dance of chewing

and swallowing

and pleasuring in taste

but at times

it is just a chore

like bathing and peeing

like flossing and dentist tripping

part of the musts for taking care of this bod

this minivan – no  truck

I’ll look under the hood, and change the oil

get enough fuel to do the things I want to do.

I cannot hike or paddle or swim without reserves –

eat to live

live to eat

I remember those days

when going without I thought would make me faint

and now sometimes I forget,

I forget and get the signal from the gauge

hey girl, you’re riding on empty

and you got miles to go

you know…

and then at times

a taste,

a whiff even, is enough

to begin a longing

to flood the tongue with taste

and the brain – endorphins

what is this drug?

the charring, the sweet and salty?

the perfect meal

a bit like heroin, never quite measuring to that first high

but definitely worth the try –

so many roads to go down

some necessary, most by choice

I enjoy the pleasure and the denial

I am a ambidextrous consumer

I can dive into pleasure

without needing it to show up daily

and I can dive into denial

without a nagging voice of need

yet still,

a cup of tea is champagne

a basil leaf,  a boat to shangrila –

may we ever hunger for that which truly fills.

mango death grip

30 Aug

We die.

No news to anyone here,

but in all the lush and frantic

moments that make up days,

the inevitability of death lies in a sealed envelope

in the victorian desk drawer

locked with a key.

The heart knows

the time and the manner,

I suspect, and

that beating soft and tender fruit of life,

mine,

calls to the icy fingers of some immortal

to hold me in a mango death grip squeeze

each night.

This heart, I suspect,

thinks it good

that my body battles the passing of me,

in the moments of desperation for air.

My horror dreams

have me up and out of the bed,

turning on lights,

but light does not provide oxygen

and the outside summer thickness

hides oxygen in blankets of steam.

The cat wonders if he is dreaming

as I join him under the moon.

The life dream has lost its key, dear cat.

I can not go gently, just yet,

and the night is not good

who steals from me not only what I think of as me

but takes my loves and drowns them

into the depths of the sea.

At night, I am living death

as a calling to look deeper

to unlock and open the drawer –

to do whatever it takes to find out

who is the I am

who never dies

before I do again.

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