go brave or go home

like i was writing a stationary bike
i laugh about what it might have looked like
if you would have driven past me on the road
riding against the (20mph? 25?) wind
from red earth to sandhill
my new (temporary)
part gravel, part blacktop commute
ladybug swarm
on the window screens
on the privy door/floor
in swirls in the air at the end of sandhill road
on the back steps where i sink into
the sun sinking into horizon

the spectacle/corner store song
mica, alyssa and i singing/laughing
while i spoon peanut butter/oat/chocoloate chip/sunflower/sesame cookies
onto oiled sheet pan
while mica washes dishes
while alyssa excavates the behind-the-couch pileup
of dust and long lost migrated objects

put mica explains is when
someone gets the disc to just the right place
nice put also works when
someone places your water bottle
on the table in front of you
best fumble in the universe
i say

to ted about his frisbee fumble that
seemed to last in slow motion
for eternity and made me laugh so hard
i fell to the filed in the middle
of the play
should post that shit on fumblr
tookie chimes in

a name for the heat that spreads through me,
the landing in my body,
the letting gravity take me
as i towel off pond-side
following the coldshock of
jumping into that shallowish water
sunset perch on
gooseberry back steps
mister curled at my side
camera in my hand
pema chodron book in the other
while sky goes all renaissance-painting on me
(clouds pinking and silvering)

how i can hear bruin’s voice
asking if i stopped myself short from feeling/saying fully
(and if so – askign what does that serve)
and how i can see his image of
trudging up and over the peak
instead of stopping short
and how i see pema’s words
(basically, disappointment, embarassment, and all these places where we just cannot feel good are a sort of death. we’ve just lost our ground completely; we’re unable to hold it together and feel that we’re on top of things. rather than realizing that it takes death for there to be birth, we just fight against the fear of death)
when i go brave (or go home)
and reveal what the shame has made
so difficult to reveal
(that thing about the ancient story of feeling unseen and unheard and
all the hooks and hurts around it)
this time without shame – only with breath
in my bones which hold me to earth
allowing gravity to take me

lightning from the south and east
flaring across sky
how i turn off the overheads
and light a candle
whose light i write in
because sometimes words work
but sometimes the power is in the picture:

North Korean Chae Hun Sik, 88, left, meets with his South Korean son Chae Hee-yang, 65, during the Separated Family Reunion Meeting at Diamond Mountain resort in North Korea. Hundreds of elderly Koreans from divided North and South began three days of reunions with loved ones many have had no contact with since the war between the countries more than 60 years ago. – voice of america, day in photos

from the water world:

Screen shot 2015-10-20 at 10.10.35 PM
Residents cross a swelling dam, due to rising waters brought about by Typhoon Koppu, in Las Pinas city, metro Manila
. REUTERS/Ezra Acayan


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