For Ruth,
and for all our mothers, when am I not dying:
When our cat shakes with purr and
pops her head out of her curl and her pads look like a hyacinth breaking
ground.
When we fall in love with another
heirloom bean.
Whenever we use the intimacy of a
nickname.
When skeins of rivulets join the
larger stream.
When we smell the ocean in the
river and our mind is tickled by the notion of how the salmon makes its
journey.
When we listen.
When we light up when you walk
into the room.
When the day begins to feel like
a journey and you exhale into a deeper world.
When we are listened to.
When we are seen.
When we move under the hush of
the tree’s canopy.
When a squirrel eats the bones of
the bread turning it like a wheel.
When you shake the snow off the
forsythia and it bounces up yellow with spring.
When answers feel right.
When we see a wren try to sing
with a worm in its mouth.
When we feel the silver we’re
wearing.
When we have the release of the
out loud.
When we let the sun melt into our
skin.
When we stop, because there is
something about the light.
When we know like Ryokan, that we
must go there today – tomorrow the plum blossoms will scatter.
please note ~ ~ ~
in this time of the pandemics - violence toward people of color, gun violence, ongoing assaults on our ecosystems, ongoing disregard for indigenous rights and lands, and COVID, in this time, i know there are many who see the good and work toward it within their communities, knitting missions with purpose, peace and recognition of each other. i'm humbled by the work you do.
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