Tagged: poems

zip line over water jump 0

Amor Vincit Omnia–

Learning to love differently is hard, love with the hands wide open, love with the doors banging on their hinges, the cupboard unlocked, the wind roaring and whimpering in the rooms rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds that thwack like rubber bands in an open palm. It hurts to love wide open stretching the muscles that feel as if they are made of wet plaster, then of blunt knives, then of sharp knives. It hurts to thwart the reflexes of...

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The Invitation.

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon… I want to know if you have touched the centre of...

Reminder. 0

Reminder.

If I live in a house of spotless beauty with everything in its place, but have not love- I am a housekeeper, not a homemaker. If I have time for waxing, polishing, and decorative achievements, but have not love- my children learn of cleanliness, not godliness. Love leaves the dust in search of a child’s laugh. Love smiles at the tiny fingerprints on a newly cleaned window. Love wipes away the tears before it wipes up the spilled milk. Love picks...

What We Need Is Here: Thoughts. 1

What We Need Is Here: Thoughts.

(Rosie, 14 months old.) When I look back at myself before I became a parent I can see now how immature I was. I had no idea about a lot of things, but I didn’t realize. The biggest thing I was clueless about–my own strength. I think about this often, how parenting has revealed an inner strength I never realized I possessed.  Not just the physical strength of growing babies and birthing them and nourishing them, but a different kind of strength. Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky...

1/25/2011 3

1/25/2011

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, Empty the dustpan, poison the moth, Hang out the washing and butter the bread, Sew on a button and make up a bed. Where is the mother whose house is so shocking? She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking. Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue (Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo). Dishes are waiting and bills are past due (Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo). The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew...