I have a poem stuck in my head
I have a poem stuck in my head. It starts in the middle, it ends in the middle and it goes everywhere in between.
*I took no notes though I’ve stared too long.
My grandfather, before he died, would have told
anyone that would listen, that he was ordinary,
that his life was a good one, simple, he could never
understand why anyone would want to write
it down. He would tell you straight up he wasn’t
brave. *
It’s stuck in my head because this winter, in this ridiculously full of season of life of tending I often don’t know when things happened, why, or if it matters what they mean.
I find myself hiking with my mom as a little girl one million wildflowers, noisy cows with their bells, mountains bigger, sharper, than I can really hold each time I look up. But the things that stand out are the texture of the bench at lunch, a warm soup, creamy cheese, and the pungency of sunscreen.
There is what it felt like to be on the front of a sailboat with my dad way out in the water, clear water all the way down, clothes rotten from too much salt, at home somehow. Happy at least.
And then I am here waking up from dreams where the spreadsheets have followed to sleep and I wake up with one ear thinking is she coughing or throwing up, again? Am I coughing? Did a bug just fly into my head? Is there a way I can go outside tomorrow for 20 minutes? Is the willow turning red yet? Did I open the phishing link for identity theft yesterday? Or tomorrow?
I have always been too sensitive, a weeper
from a long line of weepers.
I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.*
Anyways, like most things, I think it’s so personal until someone says something, or I read something, or a song wakes me up to shared experience. That is why this poem is in my head, ordinary, magnificent, worth paying attention too especially when I don’t know why.
I see the tree above the grave and think, I’m wearing
my heart on my leaves. My heart on my leaves.
Love ends. But what if it doesn’t?*
*All of these snippets are from the poem, The Hurting Kind, by Ada Limón
Quite a few things are coming up that I wanted to share with you:
-I am thrilled to be teaching a prenatal yoga series starting mid-March for those of you who are pregnant and can make it to Bainbridge Yoga House. We’ll be exploring the liminal together!
-Sit together and explore, come to a short talk and meditation we’ll do together. Being and Breathing happens March 9, 5-6 pm PST, It is really wonderful to practice together and I look forward to seeing some of you there.
-This last year I participated in Eagle School with Shayne Case. You know how sometimes you do something and it feels so true that you can’t really imagine the shape of life before it happened. This is one of those things. It is a homecoming and for those of you looking to do a deep dive into that, here is someone who holds that process with such grace.
-Fellow writer and friend Sarah Rabkin is offering two things that I wish I was going to, the first is to jumpstart your writing practice, on zoom, April 29th. Email her for all the details! No doubt it will be fabulous…and second is her High-Country Writing Retreat, North Yuba River, August 6-11, 2023 which is a far as I am concerned one of the most exquisite places to spend a few days of your summer.