waiting [moving day: 1]

this morning i waited for the movers to arrive– julian-dog pacing amongst the boxes, then flopping dramatically to the floor, every bone connecting and sighing, each furry sigh deeper than the last. saddest of eyes. 

they were late–and i started to sigh, offering sad eyes back to julian, who then in her puppy-wisdom placed her head on my keen. it’ll be okay eyes. 

and now we wait together on the porch while our (okay, my) worldly possessions are loaded up, to sit and wait until tomorrow to be unloaded again in a new home where they will undoubtly wait varying numbers of days and weeks to be unpacked. 

where, i suppose, they are long term waiting to do it all over again.  



follow your path

beyond understanding and the known lies new territory. i shall sojourn there, and meet you, and learn what you have to teach me. 

may it be a challenge, a delight, a mundane and ecstatic adventure. 

step one. 

acknowledge anxiety 

i become aware of the infinitude of time and space, of love and grief–and the pressure to live and love and grieve in the ever expanding universe rests with all of her beauty and brawn at the center of my chest. 

she is heavy. 

at the same time all that is and was and will be shrinks to a minuscule speck–and my lungs follow suit. 

it is hard to breathe. 

simultaneous expansion and contraction–growing and shrinking. 

seek: stability. 


soft. sharp.

hope is a thing with feathers,*
but she also have a beak.
she can fly,
she can bite.

come hither my sparrows,
my little arrows**
remind me that home is where you are.
teach me to fly,
teach me to die,
carry me home
or heaven bound.

up with me! up with me into the clouds!
for thy song, Lark, is strong;

up with me, up with me into the clouds!
singing, singing,
with clouds and sky about thee ringing,
lift me, guide me till i find
that spot which seems so to thy mind!***
i have much to learn from you,
wing’ed teacher.
to be soft
and sharp,
to fly,
to die,
to be


*dickinson “hope is a thing with feathers”
** blake, so out of context here you have to look the poem up yourself. (did i mention that i took it way out of context?)
***wordsworth “to a sky-lark”

[            ]

when the refuge
you normally seek


becomes a place of


that overwhelms
and chokes:

.             .kudzu.
.                    .ice.
.                           .loneliness.

There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance —
So Memory can step
Around — across — upon it —
As one within a Swoon —
Goes safely — where an open eye —
Would drop [her] — Bone by Bone.*

* (599) __There is a pain so utter__ Emily Dickinson

your privilege is showing, young lady [another installment]

running late, again.
my intent is to move quickly past them,
offering a kind “excuse me” so i don’t bump into her,
standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

“you’re all good, sugar.” she says,
“naw, wait, you okay baby girl?”

turn and look her in the eyes,
“yeah, i’m okay.” (lie)
“okay, well, you work it, baby.”

failing to unleash a public bike from its stand:
membership denied.
debit card not recognized by the machine.
deep sigh of frustration, swallowing tears.

a gentle voice from behind me,
“sugar. you’re sure you’re okay?”
her concerned face searches mine.
“no, yeah, i’ll be okay.”

“i do not, for one second, believe you,”
“have any pennies?”

“no, these aren’t even real pockets.” i say,
and show her the false pockets of my jeans.

still running late,
dashing home to
drive a vehicle i own,
to an event,

this time,
the tears
are because i chose

[anger] when a nice solstice day turns sour

the day began
with soft solstice light,
tibeten yoga,
shimmering tears:
a mixture of sadness,
& gratitude to be alive.

may you move in harmony;
may you speak in unison;
let our mind be equanimous like in the beginning;
let the divinity manifest in your sacred endeavors. 


the longing to find union
of polarities
is finding expression
through ambition…
om, shanti, shanti, shanti.
may you unfold your being
through folded hands.

gentleness and peace came crashing down,
all at once.
“hey girl! you, girl!”
“come on baby, i ain’t gunna bite!”
“unless you want me to.”

head down,
walk faster.
“damn, come on, girl.”
i shout, “leave me alone.”
“aw, naw. come on, baby. whats the worst that could happen?”

the smell of stale
only arrives after
his hands
on my arm.

i shout:

i hear his body hit the pavement,
gravel under sneakers,
the thud of weight against unforgiving concrete,
the sound of air knocked out of lungs.

under a blue sky,
a solstice sun,

refuge of a crowded restaurant,
hiding tears behind sunglasses,
thanking god for uber.

this is not at all, how i saw this going.

i commit, to make myself into a healthy, peaceful, joyful and loving human being.
through every action of mine, i will strive to create a peaceful
and loving atmosphere around me.

i strive to break the limitations of who i am right now and include the entire world as my own.
i recognize the kindship of my own life with every other life. 
i recognize the unity of all there is.


[[i had wanted to write today about the intersections of father’s day, international day of yoga and the first sunday since the murders in charleston (and how we need to seriously address racism in this country). however, this incident this afternoon rose to the top. ]]


love letters to houston [1]

bayou city,
humidity & hurricanes
a paradox of oil & green.

clutch city,
shapely skyline
ferociously tenacious.

sassy & well read
exquisitely caffeinated,
spiritual & religious.

you have filled me
with queso,
& craft beer,
made me sweat,
& cry.

you have loved me.
and i have loved you

to the haters, FYHA.

you may keep my heart,
you humid,
temperamental beast of a city.

(the roaches, however, you may keep to yourself)

misplaced expectations

dear sir,

please do not howl at me, as you tool past on your too-small bicycle–
i am not, and do not desire to be your Moon.
nor shall i ever be.

you look shocked by my exasperated sigh–
by my outburst of “SERIOUSLY?!”
what did you expect?

keep peddling on your too-small bicycle, sir–
you will find nothing but rage here.

all the best,