Small Explosions on the Surface of the Skin

The electricity of the body
flows through muscle and bone
and in the spaces between cells
red as blood and breathing

and as in another interpretation
of what it means
to be human,
the miracle of life,
the energy of the universe
hovers above the body
at the surface of the skin
like morning mist;
like angels
waiting for a space
to land.

The simple beauty of lightning
happens here
just like it does
when locking eyes
with a soul you have met
before in some other life
and recognize
you've found each other
in this new body
surrounded by these thoughts
and this mind that sparks
meaning in the tips of fingers
and on the laughing tongues
that speak the truth
and know what it means
to activate
small explosions
of kindness
everywhere.

poem for my sons when they are sick

I say a little prayer for you.  
-- Greg Brown

my sweet boys,
when you are sick
or sad or need me
like tonight,
feel my cool hand
on your fevered brow
even when I am not there
to dote on you

to pull up the quilt
and look into your eyes
rheumy and filled with watery grief
for the ache in your belly,
the ache in your head,
the ache in your bones
and at the touch of your skin
above your lonely heart.

I am with you
close as your breath,
close as your thoughts,
close as an embrace
of healing
and of joy
and of what only
this mother can give you
in prayer after prayer
with all that I am.

Making a Living

Sometimes it is hard to imagine
the ways any souls
made the journey before us,
earned their way in the world
of tough granite --
the pressure of survival
leaving little room for supple hands.

They had to hold on
with all their might,
fingers white with worry,
to move stones and trees,
tend sheep and goats,
cobble shoes and  yoke
the stubborn oxen
toward one bit of chaos
or another.

In the summer I work for a farmer,
Vermont is more beautiful.
Sometimes it is hard to believe
my soul is free to breathe
with my hands in the dirt
and my eyes feasting on flowers.

I hold on to my life,
stubborn as an ox,
like a precious gift
to be moved with care
and loved so deeply in
and around me.

I tend this work
like a shepherd
who knows the gentle ways
of the land and the harsh truth
of paying attention.

My fingers are cut
and tangled with chaos.
It is a lesson
in making a living
out of  everything
that really matters.

The Lie

Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand. . .  

Sir Walter Raleigh

God wanted this:
the soul transported by the body
after gliding from that forgotten place
when the memory drops from the mind
aching to be touched,
if even by the brush of a finger
on the back of a hand.

Once is enough to dust
off the truth that
we all must die,
but not before we glow,
shine like rotten wood.
Smile in the light of knowing.

Why not tell men
to be brave
and expect everything.
Happiness is our birth right
after all.
Beg for more
and you only get joy.
That is where real devotion
is gained.

Fall to your knees in prayer
and tell flesh it is
but dust
and than we all must live life

entangled
in the sweetness of hands
in the earth and finding fortune
is in the flowers.

There God finds faith
worth following.

After all
he sent his son,
in flesh,
for us all
to believe.

In this act
we are stabbed,
cupid through the heart,
to find renewal
in love,
kindness,
and so much joy.

Wallflower

In the ruins of my former life
I sit quietly in the flowers
and embroider truth
into my skin.

The surface of my memory shimmers
and I marvel at the ways I am simply happy
weaving the thread in and out of the fabric
that has become  everything I hold on to.

My heart beats wildly
with so much loving.
My mind rubs herself
against the ankles of strangers
and then bolts when they move
to touch her.  She can't help but hide
under the porch until the coast is clear
and she is free to purr near her
most beloved friends.

Today I will dance,
if even by myself,
at the wall
where the corner is close
and a bench invites me to sit
and breathe
when it all becomes
too much joy to sustain.

On the First Days in Eden

On the first days in Eden
the nakedness of my heart
was exhausting.

The past was
a set of futile attempts
at perfection.
The future seemed ready
to collapse all around us
at any moment--
the walls of joy
that were simple boundaries;
fences to be mended
at all cost,
crumbled.

But, to my surprise,
in the present moment
of flowers and herbs
constantly between my fingers,
bathing my eyes in beauty
even on a rainy day,

my busy hands
in this earthly prayer,
healed me.

Ordinary Days

June isn't supposed to feel
like fall;
temperatures dropping
toward ice
and harsh winds
that make us wince
thinking about
the joints of fingers
throbbing.

But here we are
as the sky darkens
and the face of the stranger
makes me shiver and rush
to my car like a storm
is on the way to knock out power
and leave us stranded
and struggling in snow.

Turn up the heat
and notice the sound of rain
and the wipers swishing
water and bugs away.
Notice that the green
of this lush month
will bring strawberries
and daisies and indigo
when the lightning strikes
and thunder leave us.

Notice the calendar
as you walk
dripping through the kitchen door--
the calendar bright with anniversaries
and birthdays
and the ways
of ordinary days.