Archive | March, 2011

documentarian de donde?

30 Mar

i was several versions not-myself this week en route from here to there.

i was dory among the jellyfish when our neighbor-plane dove with us into the cloud bank. we emerged alone and the sky seemed greyer.

i was a stranger on another plane, sliding gum like a cigarette from its carton when offered across the aisle by the tracksuit in 4C.

i was an expert and a salesman, a business traveler and a long-distance wife.

i was not unhappy. i was not unloved. i was not alone.

indeed, i laughed hard and often – at this place, at these people, at myself sleeping in my zebra-print retainer. i had to stretch for the constant crunch of it on my stomach and soul.

but i was not mywholeself.

only now can i question, as i stretch back to thatself in the sweet valley of mere hours at home:

what pieces of these travels will i carry on from here . . . these trips not for pure escape but for the push of work and team? what souvenir stamps will they mark on my passport?

tomorrow will tell. march is for travelers.

 

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plant it, type it, tell it, go.

25 Mar

 

i dream that i can write them grown,
to color and brazen bloom.
words like rain offer sudden life
to deep and buried truth.

drought has no place here in dream-dirt,
all is fecund soil.
the heat of plowing fingers, warms,
rewards the constant toil.

the sweat is sweet.
it sings of spring.
surprises emerge from weeds.

in dream and wake, roots grab hold.
stories lie ripe, begging to be told.

it’s time to go a’pickin’.

__________________

i took part in a little chat with the writers at storybleed last night and was inspired by their talk of experimentation and finding the edge. i always feel a phony writing poetry, like i can’t get past the simple metaphor and find that edge. so here’s to searching and pushing and prodding. cheers.


blog as therapist, on winter

23 Mar

on saturday i was coatless in the sunny, springing south.

today i hear the drip of melty, mushy snow from another round of winter.

and if i’m honest i find no partiality to either version of march.

i am too often defined, riled, and mood-altered by what’s outside the window.

(i think it has something to do with not wanting to take the temperature of what’s inside).

snow, i accept you.

and i will not let you keep me from going out for mexican tonight.

the end.