“Dada! Find wiggly-woo!” the twins cry,exultant at the chance to dig fingers in earthand find its inhabitants in their hands. And so, on my lunch break, I fossickin our newly dug garden bed,each patch of earth yielding a companion for these delighted fingers,and I store the moment like compostto ferment within, to wriggle me alive.
Order unravels quicklyfrom sleepy first breath tooutbreak of chaos.I cannot controlthe unfolding of the day, but Godof the singularity andmultiplicity teachessingle-heartedness ifI take this momentto listen.
Everything breaks,is broken, orsticks underfoot like porridge.Voice grows tired, andheart turns wildat the endless, savageprice of love.Crushed underfoot,I learn Eden and Golgothawhile I wipe the floor again.Body breaks, is broken,tomorrow is new.
Learning the names of days, my sonasks each morning for the signs that distinguishone from the next: is thisthe day the rubbish truck comes?Does Dad go to work?Is it music class today?And this day, one withoutany special markers, leaves mebereft of news to give him, onlythe name – Wednesday – and the thoughtthat days likeContinue reading “Wednesday”
What happens, he wonders,shattered by the mess, by the day,by the constancy of demands,by the ever-present lesson of patience,by the daily failure to learn this patience -What happens, he asks, when my love is broken?Nothing happens. The day goes on,all is reset as night arrives;all but the weight that pulls at his shoulders,that sags likeContinue reading “Ubi Caritas: For World Mental Health Day”
To thinkwhere darkest nights have taken this soul,and how thinthe membrane between lifeand death, how loudthe Accuser has screamedto pierce the membrane and throw me through;yet hereI stand, with no reasonbeside You and the sheerleap into faith that saved,the softbelly of love into which I fell;so hereI stand, with myeldest in my arms whilehe reachesContinue reading “Chesed”
To prepare my children for a world of puddles,I must learn myself what to do with puddles,how to take the mud with the joy,how to wear the shock of the wet,how to delight in the splash.To prepare my children for a world of shadows,I must learn how to see the sun in the shadows,and howContinue reading “Learning to Splash”
My eldest gathers an ecosystem of treasureslike a store of botanical specimens for the apocalypse, ora nest for lockdown hibernation.And I, wandering with him and his brothers,viewing the world like they do, at ground level or just above,begin to spy jungles, mini-forests, whole worlds,grooves and knots, stalactites of sap,and breathe Thankyou with the air thatContinue reading “Birthday Gifts”
At the sink he perchesatop his two-stepped seat to watcha morning routine that’s utterprose for me, discovery for him:how I wetthe shaving brush, lather soap,then smooth the jawlineof my beard, and howI brush my teeth withoutprotest, without needingto eat the toothpaste with each brush.And then how I openthe mirrored cabinet and takemy pill-cutter, splitEscitalopram inContinue reading “Conversation with my son”
My twin boys turn onewithin our garden’s walled world,learn to navigateand negotiate space asleaves fall in entrancing swirls. This poem comes from my upcoming collection “Les Feuilles Mortes”. Stay tuned for more information about the launch, or contact me to join the mailing list.