Thursday, February 8, 2018

Night Talks, We Listen

He visited me at work for tea one afternoon.

He walked through the office and kitchen of a Georgian mansion, with his faded jeans, leather coat, and shuffle-swagger - slightly crooked, from years of carrying a guitar. 

Stopping by, to squeeze my shoulders too hard, plant a kiss on my forehead, put a smile on to say hello to everyone.

He sat in the lounge, chatting and drinking tea, while I typed a few emails. 
After a long quiet moment, when the lounge was empty of all but us, he said,

"I admire your work ethic."

His voice was soft, and broke a little. 
I looked up from my screen, and his eyes were teary.

"I admire you. I'm proud of you."
I smiled, said thank-you, and puzzled a bit. 

To be honest, it was an unfamiliar moment. I wasn't sure how to respond. 
I was at work, as well...
and I thought those things mattered.

I wish I had responded as heartfelt.

I didn't know that simple gesture - the open vulnerability he offered - would remain so vivid and profound.

That it would be the thing that comes to mind on restless nights. 
When school gets overwhelming. 
When winter months have me feeling low. 
When, for a minute, I can't seem to care enough to do better.

I didn't know then, that he'd soon be gone.

I didn't know how that small, simple moment would embody so much of who I knew.

Perhaps that's what parenthood does; 
some depth of him reached, stirred, shaken gently and told
"Wake up! It's time to love with all you've got."

All you've got. 

The insecurities. The tenderness. The envy. 
The exposure. 
The fear, and failure. 
The selfish, and selfless.

The love... that it be stronger, always humming beneath the rest.

... Perhaps it was some depth of him,
    reaching for some depth of me,
    to say the same.

Friday, January 13, 2017



I'd sift through sorrows to
find moments of smiles and
Too-tight arms around
weighted shoulders,
quiet thoughts bending my
mouth to frown. Lost
in heavy hard-truth

Blue-eye contact burrows,
knowing of depths found early,
taking a toll...

Called back by the space
you'd hold,
bamboo stake standing for
this winding vine to wrap and
lean on.

I'd leave the dirt and roots,
To say to you, today;

This trembling heart is a growing wave.

It is ocean's fullest tide,
and the falls that feed the sea's whip and froth
under immeasurable night skies,
It is the stars -
their wild laughing glee
at my force, in the wind through mountains,
flying bitter cold, to shake the branches
pounding rhythmic, hollowed wood on wood.
All my mighty soul, making music
for being born to you.

My heart;
the impassioned crack
in the shell of the seed
of January fourteenth's

Saturday, March 26, 2016

Louder Now

We live in a culture that invalidates our experience.

Families, afraid to rock the boat,
must "correct" our thinking.

Partners, in fear of feeling at fault,
dismissing, discrediting, the hurt of another.

From private homes, to society's whole.
A perfect reflection.

Were we ever listening?

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Sunnudagur Musing

Kissed by Sunday morning,
soft light leaking towards me.
My fears and doubts fall
to the floor,
lie crumpled with Saturdays clothes,
your body holds 
my stare.

Under your cover of logic and plans, 
wild and unabashed 
somewhere in there - 
Sheets slip away and my fingers trace
these secrets onto your skin.

Your voice...
In soft, waking moans,
echoes through, calling my bones
to listen.

Your neck,
curling into my breasts.
Lips, balm to the wide, heavy heart,
open to the world 
but no one.

Remembering now,
while you gracefully,
fast and unknowingly
open a pinhole, unleashing it all - 

Sundays were somedays,
maybe nevers,
content to love unattached - 

But here with you,
reaching for me while sleeping,
I am remembering.

Details of a place I've never been -
You have me longing to be there again,

In this kind of love.
In Sunday morning.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Love You Anyway

I should write today.

Words to say what you were, the complex and convoluted ways in which I learned who I was from you.

I should talk about knowing someone so well - the stages of knowing:
The playground beliefs, "My dad is better than your dad" stereotypes;
The moment you fell running bases at ball, and I learned you were human;
The moments I learned what your struggle was really about.

I should find ways to say the gravity of your loss. 
The way my breath goes shallow at the thought of the rest of my life without you.

But I've none. This is it. 
This year, despite all summons of bravery and grace, I just feel the loss.

The loss of the children I may never even have, that you'll surely never meet.

The loss of you hearing me sing now.
The chance of pride, or if not, even the sound of your critique.

I imagine hearing that - the ways I could improve, the things I should be learning - and calling your eyes to mine, to smile and lovingly hold your stare, both of us knowing what that's really about.
I imagine too, the other side of you, that would maybe sit softly listening, and say something like, "I didn't know you could do that..."
with the open vulnerability you sometimes showed, welling up.

I miss you. I miss the quiet of our similarities, like a low hum beneath the surface of who I am.

This is a love that's incomparable. Our acknowledgement of authenticity, messy, sad, sick - all of it. The space between us that allowed honesty, and safety. 
Our willingness to return to it when it was lost to us.

There is no love, born of acceptance, that I've known like yours.

Love You Anyway - Demo from Rick Edgett on Myspace.

Monday, April 20, 2015



I took myself to Tom's Little Havana, and sat amongst the first dates, friend meets, candlelight and Van Morrison/Erykah Badu/Elliot Smith.
All these stories, and how I love to be lost in the mix.

Sitting here hoping to go unnoticed, but noticed, sometimes eyed strangely,
sometimes not given a second glance.
Just a girl in a funky shirt,
bright eyes and deep in her own thoughts,
craft beer and computer screen glaring.

I hope they find me brave instead of strange,
and yet,
that thought wasn't even worth writing.

What matters is that my hands are finally moving,
and I'm bothering to be present enough to document what I'm doing,
Because, see, documenting IS presence,
at least,

I am seeing my surroundings.
The four gay boys gossiping
about their girlfriend across the aisle.
The hipsters beside me,
toques and plaid and skinny jeans
big words describing the structure of Alice in Wonderland,
high school kids these days,
reasons for living stumbling out of handsome bearded faces.
The private booths I was hoping for,
all occupied with what is, maybe their 3rd date?
and next table down,
no doubt the first.

Those two... they make sense already.
I hope they make it.
Her thin and tall, and hair on fire
Him sweet and shy -
I've never known an unbending man to date a redhead.

And hipsters,
I hope you change the world,
I hope your ideas don't stay in quiet conversations
amongst those who share them.
I hope you scream them out, in an inviting way,
And eventually rise to the calling of control,
learn to balance the naive dreamer that we're all needing to lead us
with the leader.

And the gay boys,
innocent and shameless,
I can't even begin to say how fucking proud I am of you.
Your gossip is good natured,
Your pride is fierce,
and I hope you remember to be as inclusive as you wish
to be accepted.
You're gorgeous, and if you don't remember what you've been through
and take note of who not to do that to,
Your beauty won't mean shit.

All of you, never stop growing.
There are places you're going,
and despite the buddhist mind in me that says so calmly,
be in the now,
I don't want you to stay.

There is so much more on the way.

Friday, March 13, 2015

For the Solo Traveller

For the one who goes alone,

This is for Claire from Idaho, in her youth and nervousness,
Taking advantage of barriers downed,
           with your blue eyes, dreads and shy smile.

For Bernice, and your bravery,
for your 60+ years of curiosity,
living like the locals with a grin as big as the sky
eyes as bright as a child's,
           elegant British accent standing out in the crowd.

For George, my old army friend,
Who wouldn't let me take his picture
But had the best belly chuckle,
And made bus rides shorter
          laughing at toddlers making friends.

For Andrea, with your weight and wonder,
Mind of a philosopher,
Heart with both hope and cynicism,
that hold hands with each other.
        There's no question in another life
         you were my brother.

For Pedro, a different kind of alone,
Battling demons the whole world knows,
Desperate for acceptance,
and meant for so much more.
         You are good, and you are worthy.

For Lino, the small man with the biggest presence,
Who takes no shit and speaks no english
Who has a true talent to antagonize without offending.
Who makes me feel light and joy, for reasons I can't explain.
          There is no language that could translate this.

This is for all of those open
walking different roads,
crossing paths and present
unafraid of the unknown.

And for me, always learning
          How much love this heart can hold.