Angry women scare me
 a hard right punch takes me off guard
i duck best I can
but i can never see it coming

the acid in their stomachs rises to their mouths
and translates into poison
because they need, so badly, to spit
making this whole garden look like compost.

shit's just shit
i think
but more than anything i want the sun to burn
off all the ugly,

so stuff can grow

it's the light i count on
and once my feet get warm
it's just a matter of small time
until my ears burn.

The more I say, "I am here,

I am present"

the more the target is fixed

Who knew that when I decided to stand still

it was an agreement to accept the angst of the aggrieved?

A disclaimer is needed, I set myself up, cried out

"Bring it on!"

Thinking I was ready

When all I wanted was to feel my feet

firmly on the ground

and hear the quiet of my breathing as I drifted off each night

satisfied that each day was filled 

with love and the intent to do good.

On this sacred day you joked about the flower salesman at the ski lodge who said $39 when you asked about the cost of his bouquet

You said, "I'll just give her the money"

and forgot that my mother died today

and I was alone while you were skiing under brilliant skies, blue and sunny.

I sat on the deck and watched a hawk diving and squawking while crows chased

it under the same sky

The blue was the gift

the light was the warmth

and memory was its own embrace

We Accept This Time

as comfort

a place to reside

and move forward with routines

created in each day

We no longer discuss the importance

of time (at my request), rather, we take for granted that each day

will rise and fall with a leg draped over a hip

snuffly snores when pushed to the side

Taking for granted the pounding heart beside us

that skips in dreams

pretends not to wander

or wonder

But we never forget

What came before

Potent and passionate

Breathless

Fleshy and fearless

and that was before we reached the stairs.

Our new normal is angst and recovery

Frantic moments

Breath held while one affliction or another overcomes us

Briefly

We don't really panic, rather, we remain poised

Make jokes en route to our diagnosis

which is minimized by the professionals in response to

 our ability to make jokes in the first place

They love our banter, the disguise for fear that one thread pulled will unravel

our comfort

The insulation, which is our nights settling in

The haze that wraps around us

We quietly trip over our toes

and if we are lucky

we break the fall surrounded by loved ones who choose to look away.

this winter

chill has set in

we look for warmth where we can find it

curled up on the sofa with thick socks

and hot tea

something to read 

words to roam over

distracted by the settling

of our creaking house

that moans with its subtle moves

the fire in the furnace needs tending

but it's worth the effort 

to heat these wide boards

with creases filled with dust

and the dribbles 

that move over them

they drink the lives that settle in

and hear the laughter and angst

accept the daily clamor

and scattered mismatched rugs

we think of stews and soups and pies that

sit heavy in our bellies

with beef and broths

chops from the local butcher

peppered, seared

absorbing the juices

capered and lemony

gatherings at the wide table

local talk and plans for warmer days

or places

deep and longer sleep

between flannel sheets

and heavy quilts

always with a window open

to smell the dark and the moon

rising in clear skies sparkled with stars

that wink

sometimes I walk outside and stand in my stockinged feet

and just breathe this valley 

wood smoke

and generations 

settle in 

light snow falls

and there is no sound

not even a shoosh

when it touches the ground

The bird that swooped down in front of the car ahead of me the other day didn't stand a chance

My first impulse was to swerve

All I saw was tangled black and white matted feathers dropping in a straight line

I felt a responsibility to it

But before I could fully brake I wondered, "What?"

Could I see myself rescuing this tattered pile, scooping it up in my hands and trying to sort out a place to put it in my car that would allow it to be unencumbered, to possibly fly once it got its bearings and shook off the shock of impact?

There was no place to pull over and my head was already filled with what was left of a day

Conversations filled with riddles

Plenty of placating ( a type of rescuing for sure)

There was nothing there when I looked in the rear view mirror which was a relief

and the car in front was long gone.

It’s hard to believe that Grammy left this world nine years ago, today. I remember hearing the news and to keep from crying, I laughed instead, thinking. ‘She always had a sense of humor.’

Having a birthday that falls three days after Valentine’s Day, it as though there’s a time stamp engraved into my memory. I turned twenty-five the day of her funeral, and it was an experience which ultimately changed the course of my life.

After her passing, I swore I would be more thoughtful with the choices I made. Losing her made me realize that life was way too short to not always be pursuing the things that bring me joy. My grandmother, without her ever knowing her influence, taught me to take risks and to be unapologetic when it comes to protecting the things that mean the most.

My heart, for example, was a topic that was of much concern to her, as I grew from a child, into a teenager, and later a young woman. Like any motherly figure, she wanted to be sure I had a person in my life who would cherish my heart. Part of her too, I’m sure, was always afraid of that young man who would eventually break my heart.

What I wish I could share with her today is that even though I did at times know what a broken heart felt like, it was the strength she instilled in me that helped me to keep on. And in times of utter doubt, she was always the guiding force that gave me faith.

I know beyond anything that she would’ve adored my partner Nick. A man so kind and gentle with my heart, I sometimes like to think he was the man she imagined for me so long ago, when I was just a giggling little girl.

As she requested at the end of her life, we spread her ashes in Silver Lake; a place where our family loves to spend time in the summers. Though she hated knowing there would be so much she would miss, what brought her peace was that her spirit would inhabit a place we would often return to, and that in a way, she would always be right there with us when we would go for a swim or have a picnic. That’s why when Nick and I decided to get married, we couldn’t think of a better place to have our ceremony than Silver Lake.

It will be such an honor to marry my partner and friend this July, surrounded by our closest loved ones. And I know my grandmother will certainly be smiling upon us that day with her own blessings...

Happy Valentine's Day, 

Norma Lenore.

Monday's Walk

I am buried under layers 

sweater, neck warmer, vest

wool and warm

thick socks squeeze my ankles

inside my gray boots laced up to the knee

with soggy mittens I paw at my

ill fitting cap

stretched out, misshapen and slipping over one eye then the other

We walk fast through the snow crunching through the top layer

Up hill and winded

I grab hold of lean trees 

Pissing and moaning under my breath that I just want to take a walk

Branches swack my head as you push through the growth

ahead of me 

wet whips with clinging leaves or stunted limbs

I am self conscious of how often I need to stop

because my legs get ragged feel like they are flapping

 The town gets smaller

white and brick houses get blurry  the church steeple and court house well below us

 the smell of pine lots and wood fire smoke spouting from chimneys in

slow motion then held in the crisp air that fogs with our breath 

and steams from sweat

sometimes we find ourselves on

paths well worn

tracked by deer and skittering voles

We guess that some are made by squirrels

Rabbits are easier, their hind legs dragging give them away

We take just a moment to look out before heading

 down, heels first through ledges made deeper by fallen trees

delicate dance so as not to get tangled

we make our way

 along the river where the water rushes under

crusty mounds, like fragile glass 

delicate swirls around glazed rocks

mist rises

Then up and over the bank to the wooden foot bridge

with snow piled on the sides and rails

It falls silently, slowly 

with each step and vibration

We make our way to the ball field which is untouched, 

a pale quilt

smooth with soft snow shooshing across

what is frozen

once across

we slip out of our snowshoes

to walk home on a familiar road

over the crumbling bridge that rumbles when

the log trucks roll by

we wave back at friendly strangers

and neighbors

under a late day sky 

washed in grays and blues

buttery light fades 

from our quiet valley

It is winter

Not because the air is colder,

or the days shorter,

 and

the morning commute slower

and slippery,

sloshing on single lane roads,

in early gray, blue light that looks like the entrance to heaven

when straight rays reach from the heavy clouds

and I feel I should say an "Amen" and take a moment to ask for direction for the day

I pray for patience and understanding

and the right words while

heading due north

behind yellow school buses

and weighted pick ups with

logs shifting side to side

with each bend in the road

carefully, and old drivers heading to their morning appointments

cigarette smoke swirling from the crack in the window

slow creaking neck turns side to side

merciless braking

then end of day

quieter, smoother ride home under silhouettes of creaking trees

wild turkeys huddled on the new crunchy snow the ground

is not quite ready to receive

I shiver just looking at them

dark and lost

Once home

opening the door

to the wood heat blast and the smell of 

bacon cooked late morning

after Tim's routine of coffee and reading,

correspondence

and a handful of vitamins

Lights on 

and changing clothes fast

tugging on boots

wrapping our necks

for a walk 

catching the last light from the top of the village,

washes of pale yellow light and gray that soften my heart

which is sometimes heavy from the day

our fingers twist together through wool gloves

as we look out, trying to

catch our breath

in the night air

I am the mother of three daughters

Who astonish me at every turn

They are smart and poised

filled with joy

and fearlessness

they amaze me

all the time

Take my breath away

with the art they create

They are writers and painters

photographers

comedians

runners

joggers

yogis

teachers

dancers

God, how they love to dance

every day people

grounded by their experiences

hard workers, such freakin' hard  workers

introspective and with extraordinary perspective

journeying forward 

committed to doing good things

acknowledging others who struggle

looking them clear in the eye

and reaching out to lift up

being kind and thoughtful

loving their lives

appreciative of the gifts that surround them to include 

love

big love

Oh my I am so proud to be

your mother

so pleased to know such lovely women

love love love holdng your hands
when we walk together.

It's All Uphill

when I lose my footing I understand it is a reminder

to find the right shoes

aimless and wandering is fine if you have boots

or a paddle to move through water pushed by wind

it becomes important to pay attention

to the moon's rising

and light

long shadows cast

so people can see you coming

or going

it's hard to know what sound to make

when you are just about to pass them.

Place

There was a stream I loved to walk into

Cold water screaming at my ankles, then calves...black rubber tube... I laid back in its welcome circle warmed by the sun

Extended my legs

and said hello to the big blue sky that made me dizzy with clouds that floated by

not sure which of us was moving faster

Water surface like keen jeweled light

tip toeing then dancing comfortably to its own secret rhythm

ordered by wind and melt then sent from far away

Bumping from rock to mossy rock

Pushing off from deeper sides, rich smells of soil sliding from the edge

and lush sweet moss

Water the color of leaves and tree roots breaking down

Rich glowing amber 

Around the bend small gray birds lift up when they feel me coming and water follows from their wings

a new stream caught in exquisite light

and a moment

that settled inside me 

and remains

This Likeness

This Purpose

You told me that you were afraid that your life was not on schedule

That the course was not clear

You could not picture yourself in a place

I listened to your worries but

I know I never had them, until I had daughters, because I let myself drift along until I bumped into you,

I was young then and my heart was open

You took it over from the moment I knew you were there, resting and growing in my belly

waiting for your time to arrive in my arms

 and now I want so badly to tell you how wonderful it is

to have come to this place and time when each day is recognized as a gift

not always wrapped neatly

Sometimes the hands that hold it ache or tremor

Not just from angst or anticipation

Mostly my breath is taken away

By the measure of who you have each become

Like it or not

The purpose of this life was to bear witness

to possibility

and not just my own.

I dive into the water several nights per week

I know I am there for quiet and to hear myself breath

water warming against my skin with each

awkward stroke

changing it up side to side, front to back

dragging myself across the surface

while the bored lifeguard flicks himself awake

He avoids eye contact and it's okay with me

I just wish I were a better swimmer

For fun I envision myself as a butterfly 

not panicked when I close my eyes and

 bump into the cool blue sides

, thinking I will feel the water better that way

I am determined

To propel myself forward

Making time

against that aimless clock with the giant hand that clucks with each move

never set for swimmers like me

who refuse to wear a rubber cap

or goggles

sometimes floating

Just because I can

Another Year of What is Good

There is something 

That I cannot explain

I only know that the force of it reminds me to say, "Thank you"

Daily.

The passing of time does not diminish the cause of my heart,

                                                   

Which is to love.

With every single fiber of my being.

I am not an anchor

but a buoy
Flopping and bouncing with wind
and waves
Knowing this boat
needs to drift sometimes
hug a shore
break loose
then submit to tides
and seaweed, wet boots, soggy blankets
matted, twisted hair at the nape of my neck
Hard rowing towards horizons and inlets
then rest
Prone to diving in without knowing how deep
the water is or how cold
Joking that I only feel one side
 fretting about the other giving out
Calling out to my god when the wind whispers
then howls so my voice disappears and I wonder
from deep within me
which prayers have been heard.

Snapshot

Big skies call me and I dream of

landscapes whizzing by with the shutter wide open

My heart thumping like a hesitant drummer

I never wonder what is at the end of the journey

 It's what fills the landscape as I move through changing scenes:

Tall matted grass

Broad fields with tractor lines and baled hay

Tiny flowers in the foreground I squint to see and cannot name

Gray brown buildings with slack boards, light streaming through

Slanted shifting shadows

Sometimes a rusted tractor with weedy tendrils woven through its wheels

holding it in place

or

Dense woods with speckled sun that tiptoes through

Taut, mossy trunks holding thick boughs with wide leaves 
bend over time
  and dead, dried trees with creaking branches that reach like old men

 pointing their arthritic fingers toward the sky, perhaps unwilling

to quit, hoping that the light and drenching rain

will keep them awake just a little longer

In Observance

In Observance

Sometimes life calls upon us

to give more than we think we can

There are perils we cannot anticipate

The suffering of others which we can choose to watch from the sidelines

or reach out despite our indifference

 the inconvenience of disrupting a day with full intentions

laundry lists (literally) best deals, produce markets busting at the seams with culturally diverse multi colored options, fruits we have not bitten

even though we wrap our fingers around them, smell them,

are tempted by them

and allow the most important parts, the sweetest, to slip through

drip on our toes

cause our feet to stick

make a mess of the carpet

But, most curious, we refuse to plant them in our gardens.

I Will Not Make Everyone Happy

I Will Not Make Everyone Happy

Not today or tomorrow.

I will not always intuit what others need

I will trip over my words and my feelings

Seem obtuse

And sometimes cold

Hard to reach or understand

and might easily tear up when asked what's going on

I won't always have an answer

because life gets busy and there are often competing

calamities

that captivate me

and quiet spots that deserve my attention too

shifting light and changing seasons

I will wear clothing that does not match 

just because I didn't have to iron it in the morning

and it will feel right when I put it on in the faint light

that calls to me long before the alarm sounds

after restless nights

or deep sleeps

When I wake up in the dark I almost always look out at the night sky

sometimes I even walk out on my back porch with bare feet and drag wet leaves inside

after hoping to see a star dropping, soft light tails behind it 

because that would be lucky, right?

And a wish could be made

that I could be all things

steady and right

available

earnest and honest

always kind in my thoughts and deeds

my words could be pure and my

feet would be planted

grounded

Instead I become afraid

that I am coming up short somehow

not strong enough or

determined and steady handed

Indecisive

Shifting foot to foot

With vision blurred

as I fix on a horizon, light to dark and back again

and lose my way when there is no moon to guide me

awkward and sullen dragging bags filled with what has been avoided

mismatched socks and dusty remnants, self conscious

all distractions 

I will let you down from time to time, no doubt.

And there is no sorry that will make it right

All I know to do is to keep moving forward,

reach out open handed

step, sometimes stomp

run hard and fast, walk lightly, quietly, tip toe

and breathe

and hope that you will breathe with me.
Please breathe with me.