Friday, August 31, 2012


The hole in the kitchen ceiling has sparked our kitchen conversation again.  Yes, the construction folk will drywall the hole.  In the meantime, we discuss dioramas.

Yesterday they fixed
The bathroom plumbing,
Cut a large square hole
In the kitchen ceiling.
Rather hard
To ignore.
Once things get started
It*s difficult to ignore
The undone pieces,
The large square hole
In the ceiling.
At dinner last night
We thought to make it 
A PVC pipe shadow box,
Title it something creative
Like Plastic in Process,
Rather like the dioramas
We used to make
In grade school.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Top down

There is most often an order to things.  The trick is to figure out which order makes sense.  Sometimes it seems that the thing I most want to do (the kitchen, for example) comes absolutely last.

Now we work from the top
Silly us.
We thought to do the kitchen
Thank goodness the bids 
Came in
Too high.
So we started
With the leak
In the roof.
We have learned again
To work
Top down.
The kitchen
Will come last,
Probably right before
We move.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Impossible things

In the mailbox this morning was a quotation from Madeline L*Engle (sorry Madeline... I still have no apostrophe) which spoke of blessing six difficult, problematic people before breakfast (referring to the White Queen from Lewis Carroll*s Through the Looking Glass).  I have always liked the quotation.  The time before breakfast, that barely awake time before the coffee has really kicked in, allows me to consider things which don*t seem possible later in the day.

Impossible things are more likely possible
To consider
Before breakfast.
My barely conscious brain
Hardly knows
Which end is up
Or down
Or sideways.
This is the best time to write,
Newly awakened
The plate of impossible things
On the breakfast table
With the morning coffee.
Me and the White Queen
Clink our juice glasses.
We consider
Impossible things.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012


Today is acupuncture treatment #3.  Already I have learned new things by paying attention to new things.  It seems I store tension in my jaw.  Jaw exercises have not been part of visits to the physician or therapy or working out twice a week.  Maybe the dentist might have said something, but I don*t grind my teeth at night, so probably not.  It*s not a surprise that blocked ears and blurry eyes might have some relation to tense jaw. It*s all connected, after all.  Meanwhile, I open and close my mouth like a fish, and remember that a smile might be therapeutic to me, as well as those I encounter.

Already I learn new things:
It seems the tension in my jaw
Contributes to blocked ears,
Blurred eyes.
When I exercise my jaw
By smiling,
Whenever I remember
To smile,
The world lightens
My ears clear
The blur that still remains
Softens to new possibility.
When I pay enough attention
To open and close my mouth
Like a fish,
Usually in private,
My ears clear,
My eyes
 Seek out
New things.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Realized dreams

It rained yesterday, all day... the soft soaking kind of rain, the kind we needed after day after day of hot and sun.  Sometimes a simple change of weather, even gray and rain, makes the next day look different, allows for new possibilities.

The steady soaking rain,
The gray skies
Made the green grass
Somehow greener.
Today the sky bloomed blue
Still humid
But there are possibilities
Like clouds
They float and drift
Where the wind blows.
The clients I see
Every Monday
Find new hope
In the fresh washed grass,
Even the one who arrives
Every week.
Today she laughed
When I told her she deserved
Her dreams

Sunday, August 26, 2012


It seems it*s not only parents that sway by way of calming their babies.  I notice it sometimes in others, sometimes in myself, sometimes in the mentally ill.  It seems to come from somewhere way back as our genes were formed.

Years ago I stood
In back of a church
In Ypsilanti,
Baby boy in my arms.
I swayed
As mothers do
As fathers do.
It seems
An automatic
Calming sway
Arrives at birth.
The man in the pew
Across the aisle
Rocked and swayed.
There was no baby,
No wind,
No music.
In the pauses I heard
His whisper
As he swayed.
Now I think he may have been
Today we stood in back
As ushers.
We watched children,
Old people, young.
One woman swayed in the back pew,
New babe
In arms.
Another man
Two pews up
Swayed in rhythm
To nothing I could hear or see.
Now I wonder if there might be
A universal calming sway
Installed in us
From the very beginning;
If perhaps
We can re-calibrate our ears
Our eyes
Our hips
To rock from one side
To the other
And back again;
To remember
The sway.

Saturday, August 25, 2012


I have never been to Iceland.  Much less bought a flute there.  In three and a half weeks I fly to Scotland for a pilgrimage to Iona.  I wonder what I will carry back home with me.  I somehow know it will be beautiful.  I imagine it will take some time to learn its use.

I dreamed I bought a flute
In Iceland.
I figured I would learn to play
On the flight home.
I opened my eyes
As we prepared to land.
I had slept all the way
Across the Atlantic.
It is a beautiful flute.
I cannot play a note.
It is a beautiful flute.
I cannot play a note.

Friday, August 24, 2012

The upstairs bathroom

There are things to do over the next two or three or four years.  Our daughter will go to college in two years.  We are older than many for the oncoming empty nest.  The next step is re-doing the upstairs bathroom.  I remind myself that everything happens one thing at a time, even while I am impatient to get on with everything at once.  One thing at a time.  I filled the sink with hot water and added dish soap this morning, put last night*s dishes in to soak.   I planned to do them after eating breakfast.  My husband got to them as the coffee was brewing.  Who knew?

The upstairs bathroom
Is on the agenda
For next Wednesday.
The new parts wait
In the family room:
Boxes of tile,
A toilet,
A sink.
We watch television
With upstairs possibility
In the foreground.
Next week we begin
With the bathroom.
We fix the house
For the next people,
Two or three or four years
Someplace smaller awaits us
Two or three,
Perhaps four years out.
But first
The bathroom.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Woman at the well

This is one of those Bible stories that trips people up.  Questions around the number of husbands the woman really had and particularly the character of the woman in question, circle around.  They are as meaningful as how many angels dance on the head of a pin.  The woman did as Jesus asked.  Jesus offered her living water, fully knowing everything she had ever done.  Still... the living water was available to her.... and to us. 

The woman at the well
Drew water for Jesus.
He gave her
Living water.

Hear the proclamation
Of the woman at the well:
He told me everything
I have ever done
With wonder;
In relief;
In full knowledge
There is nothing
To hide,
Nothing is ever really hidden
Living water
Living flowing water
A river
A flood.

Hear the words
Of the woman
Who heard the words
Of Jesus:
He told me everything
I have ever done.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012


As I was doing my internship at the halfway house, I thought regularly about this.  It seems to me all of us are in recovery from something.  We are all trying to find our way home again.  Hopefully we will be recognizable... when we get there.

We are all recovering
From something,
Slips and gaffes,
A long time wayward
Walk or slide.
All of us are recovering
From something.
We leave broken pieces
Along the way,
Gather in the bits and shards,
Figure which ones fit
Into our own personal recovery sculpture.
It will probably seem familiar
But still not
What it was before;
Maybe closer,
We hope closer,
We pray closer
To the original piece,
Kin to
The gleam in our Father*s eye.
The pulse of our Mother*s heart.
I*d recognize you anywhere
They*ll say
You have your father*s eyes.
You have the heart
Of your mother.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The gym was closed

Today we got all ready to work out, then the call came that the gym was without power.  We decided to walk the neighborhood instead, despite the coffee and newspaper allure.  I spent yesterday convincing clients to exercise.  Right.  So we took a walk to Turner Pond, past the corner house with the pear trees, past the house of the woman-who-would-be-mayor.  We put in two miles, then returned home at about the time our workout would have ended.  A morning walk.  Definitely different from the evening variety.

Today was a full survey
Of the neighborhood.
The gym had no power
So we stayed home
And walked
Realized the trees on the corner lot
Are pear,
Not apple,
A fact not noted in our usual
Evening walks.
The morning light illuminated
The yellow fruit.
We passed the not-so-green lawn
of the woman
Who aims to run the village.
She finally dumped the black jockey
From her porch.
Now her house
Is politically neutral.
When she runs for mayor
We will probably still
Not vote for her.

The gym was closed
So we walked instead,
Took a morning survey
Of the neighborhood.
Now we wonder about the pears,
Not apples,
On the corner lot.
Now we wonder
Whether the woman will ever
Run for mayor.

Monday, August 20, 2012


It*s one of those mornings, and to top it off, it*s Monday.  My 10 o*clock client cancelled, which means my next client is at 2.  My driver does not mind a slow morning, so we are both sitting and staring at the week ahead.  It is spread before us.  I wait for the tufted titmouse (yes, it*s a bird) to return so I can show my bird-loving husband.  I am waking up...  slowly.

I spread the week before me:
A hand of cards
Laid on the table.
My client this morning cancelled
With deep apology.
I have the gift
Of more time available,
Another cup of leisurely coffee.
I watch the dust bath
Next to the front steps,
Hope the tufted titmouse returns
As I watch.
I lay the week down,
Wonder whether it will be a winning hand
Or simply one
Where the cards line up
Just so,
The game changed
So a handful of twos and threes,
Perhaps a joker thrown in,
Is really
All aces.

Sunday, August 19, 2012


Two more conversations this morning helping people sift things and encouraging the bold step to quit.  It is not something that fits on a resume.   This is probably why I may never be hired, most anywhere.  Yes, it is most likely suited to a position on the edge of things.  

I am good at helping people
There is no such slot
On a resume.
I suppose it is a kind
Of discernment.
Discernment is so often named
In the positive direction.
I help people quit things,
Hold hands
Give a shove
Create spaces
So God can work
In a more positive direction:
Find new space
For the woman
who coordinated coffee hour
For twenty five years;
The treasurer who could*t balance
Her own checkbook
To save her life;
I am good at seeing
Negative spin.
I know somehow
When things
Need to change.
I hold hands,
Give a shove,
Create space so God can work
However God
Will work.
This is often not
What employers
Want to see.

Saturday, August 18, 2012


Part of the reason to try acupuncture was to get more of a handle on the blurry vision thing.  It is more than noting when I would feel safe to drive, and when not.  Some of the pieces are more obvious than others.  Heat and bright light bring it on.  Of course, like everything else, good sleep and hydration help.  And of course, less stress.  This morning, watching the birds along with the cat, I am focused and clear.  I am also grateful I never got the pot planted in front.  It makes the perfect dust bath.

On mornings like this,
Slightly cool,
I open
Every open-able door,
Listen to what speaks
At 10:03.
The cat slowly moves
To the door.
He listens to the sparrows
In the front,
Barely moves,
Slight twitch
To his tail.
It occurs to me
I can see
Perfectly well
At 10:05
As I watch the cat.
The sparrows take turns.
They use the planter
As a dust bath.
Now the cat notices.
He is focused
At 10:11
Ready to leap.
He can see
Perfectly well.
The sparrows bathe in dust
Only for him.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Acupuncture reflection number two

It*s funny.  There is some alternative medicine I will try, and some I probably won*t.  I grew up with a strong bias against chiropractors, for example.  I will probably not try seeing a chiropractor, even though I am 57 and it*s been a long time since I was a child.  Acupuncture, on the other hand, seems different, more open to possible change.  It also occurs to me we never know when we experience the placebo effect.  Probably a good thing.

A younger person I know
Told me yesterday
In a helpful voice,
With a virtual veritable pat
On my head,
I might gain a lot
From the placebo effect
Of acupuncture.
I still wonder
About the woman at the well
And Jesus.
He told her everything
She had ever done
Or at least
She remembered it
That way.
I am aware I remember
Two particular things:
The attention paid to everything
I said
The attention paid to everything
I did not say.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Acupuncture: Learnings: a beginning

It occurs to me as I reflect on yesterday*s experience... this may be part of what I do in preparation for the pilgrimage to Iona next month.  Acupuncture is a completely new experience for me, though there is resonance to what I do as a priest and as a therapist.   And... I will probably get a white noise machine for my office next to the nursery school.

First off:
Attention is paid
To different things.
There is more space here
In this tiny office
At the back of a hair salon.
The chairs we sit in
Are exactly the same.
The white noise machine
Covers over the sounds
Of the aesthetician next door.
Now I know
What an aesthetician does.
The needles don*t really hurt.
The whole time I am flat on my back,
Knees raised,
The acupuncturist pays attention
To my body,
To what she hears
Or sees.
She tells me
At the end.
As I walk back to my office,
I remember the woman at the well,
Jesus telling her
Everything she had ever done.
I am suddenly
The woman at the well.
My vision is clearer.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

New instructions

Today I have my first acupuncture appointment.  Why?  It seemed right.  It seemed there might be something I may learn about the blurred vision and dizziness with acupuncture.  I understand the loose clothing and eating lunch and filling out paperwork.  Not brushing my tongue???  Not so familiar.  I remember Naaman, a great man in high favor, who sent a messenger to Elisha so he might be cured of his leprosy.  His instructions to follow? Wash in the Jordan seven times.  I remember Naaman said: Aren*t my own rivers good enough?  (2 Kings, chapter 5).  Right. Me and Naaman, brother and sister under the skin.  I did not brush my tongue.

Today I try something new.
I will wear loose clothes.
I will eat lunch.
I will fill out the paperwork.
I will arrive on time.
So far, so good.
I will not brush my tongue.
This has never been an instruction
I needed to follow
It seems I may need
to hear
New instructions.
Then follow them.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Walk this way

I am grateful for family jokes, and thankful to Mel Brooks movies for this being a family joke.  It helps keep things lighter.

As I slipped and slid in the mud and drizzle
Along Roosevelt Road,
I thought about
One of our family jokes:
Walk this way.
We say it at home.
We say it
When we trip over the kneeler
In church.
We say it whenever we feel
Particularly klutzy.
Yesterday I said it
To no one in particular
As I could not figure out
Where the button was
On the automatic,
Then I said it
As I slipped and slid
In the wet grass
Where sidewalks
Should have been.
Walk this way
I said,
To the cars as they splashed by
Barely two feet away.
Walk this way.

Monday, August 13, 2012

No meteors

One of the gifts which comes with the seizures is an awareness of when the barometer is shifting.  Another is that my vision blurs when I am stressed.  I have a client diagnosed with conversion disorder.  I have to wonder, if we all paid attention to what our bodies are saying, whether we could all be diagnosed with some version of conversion disorder.  I believe God has some interesting ways of speaking to us, of helping us pay attention. 

The weather did not cooperate
Last night.
I*m sure there were meteors
But here
They were hidden
By clouds.
The barometer shifted
All night.
I woke regularly hoping
For sky and stars,
The streak of meteors.
Instead I got dream after dream
On the hour,
Every hour,
All night.
Instead of the sky
Opening up,
I got dream after dream after dream.
They streaked through my brain.
Different lights

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Darker place

What if there is a meteor shower and the cloud cover does not cooperate?  What if our darker place is not dark enough, with all the city lights?  I remember trying to drive out west the last time we had a comet to see, and we couldn*t get west enough of the city to see much at all.  This is when I*d love to live in a place where the Milky Way shows a full band across the sky.  I bet the meteors would streak abundant there.  Still... tonight I pray for the clouds to go where clouds go to sleep, and enough darkness to catch a meteor or two.

We will seek a darker place,
Watch the sky
For streaks of light.
We will ooh and ah
Count them,
Then lose track,
There will be so many.
I think,
A darker place
Under the stars.
In the meantime,
I love the daytime clouds.
They offer a dimmer switch
For the sun.
But tonight,
I think,
A darker cloudless place
Under the stars.
I pray for the clouds
To find a new home
Where the sun sets
Stripes the sky
In preparation
For all
The nighttime streaks of light
Too many to count.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Don*t get me wrong

I think rescue fantasies are part and parcel of the human condition.

Don*t get me wrong:
I*d still like to be carried off
By a knight on a white horse
To a castle
With a real moat
And drawbridge:
It appeals.

Don*t get me wrong:
I*d still like to be swooped up
On eagle*s wings,
Rescued and somehow tethered
To a final resting place
Which gives me
Final definition:
It appeals.

Don*t get me wrong:
The rescue fantasy
Is always there:
It sparkles
It beckons
It looms.
Don*t get me wrong:
It still appeals.

Don*t get me wrong.
It appeals
And appeals
And appeals.
It appeals.
And still I know

I*m not home yet.


Finally... cooler weather.  My daughter starts school Monday.  It is way early (when I was growing up we started around Labor Day).  Maybe the cooler weather arrived for her.  It has been a very hot summer, and I know we*re most likely not done with the heat yet.  But still, I welcome coolness here and now.  I think and see and hear better in coolness.  

Today is cooler
With potential to walk
The small spit of the backyard,
Investigate the creek.
Today is to trim
The bushes.
Grown wild,
They have needed haircuts
For two months at least.
My daughter and I got our toenails done
A small thing, yes,
But somehow large as well.
Mine are pale pink,
Hers more noticeably
Like yesterday,
Is cooler.
I see things more clearly
With doors open
To the outside.
A light breeze blows possibility
Through the house.
I hear things more finely,
The air conditioned muffle gone
Chip chip chip
A chipping sparrow is on the edge
Of the front walk
There is a background
Of cicadas.

Friday, August 10, 2012

In-between places

It is difficult to figure out where I fit, exactly.  Often I think the answer is no place, or no such place exists yet.  I find myself slicing off pieces to make the picture more viewable, somehow.  I understand this is not the right thing for me to do, or really, for anyone to do.  Really I*d like to offer the whole rainbow of who I am and what I have to offer in a language understandable to those who need to hear it.  I wonder what such a brochure would look like (and if it needs to be digital :-) )

I am not a fan
Of this in-between place:
The somehow-not -there -yet,
This place
Where I have gained
So much more experience than many.
I still try to give people I meet
For their particular
Photo album,
When photo albums don*t even exist
It*s all digital
After all.
It*s digital and
These pictures could never tell
Even the partial story,
Much less
Complete the picture.
It is a sliver of a slice
Of rainbow
Taken out of context.

Today I do not cheer
At this somehow-out-of-context-picture.
Today the picture contains something,
It looks like autumn light.
Today is marked
As in-between
The birds are massing early
It is only August
The light is autumn.
The birds know something
I have yet
To discover.

Poems drop

Different writings and poems arrive most mornings.  Some I subscribe to, and some are simply serendipitous, perhaps God-given.  Actually, when I think of it, of course it is all God-given.  The trick is to figure which ones are for now and which ones I might figure out later, when I*ve had a cup of coffee or two.  Sometimes I write pre-coffee, and sometimes something arrives mid-day.  

Poems drop
From the sky.
They shine through cracks
In the clouds.
I always thought
The rayed light
Must be God.
Poems drop.
They are in the pieces
Of rayed light.
They must be caught before
The clouds entirely disappear,
The light covers everything
The particular reflection
Is not particular
At all.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Witness to love

Having to arrive early to see my now-consultant allows me to witness other things... like this woman with four, then five children in the waiting room.  She holds them on loving loose tether, but still, tight enough.  She is amazing to watch.

The woman sits and waits
As I sit and wait.
She waits with two in a double stroller,
A bouncy four year old,
An eight year old.
As I overhear conversation,
Only one is her child.
As she waits
She holds a container
Of Cheerios,
Doles them out
One at a time.
She addresses each child
And specifically
And lovingly.
I imagine she waits
For the mother
Of the other three.
It turns out
I am wrong.
Her daughter comes out
With the therapist
Just before I am to go in.
The woman leaves,
All five children in tow.
I am amazed.
And I continue

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

The rest of the palm trees

I was afraid they had pitched the rest of the VBS palm trees in the dumpster.  No.  Now they are living in the church attic.  They await the next occasion.  I don*t know when the one in my office will be moved home.  It actually looks good next to my office window.  I can almost imagine living and practicing in the Tropics...

The palm tree
Hasn*t made it home yet.
It looks so nice in the corner
Of my small office
Next to the window;
Almost like it was made
To be there.
My office now has
A tropical air,
Aided by the tree:
Burlap bottom,
Scrunched paper bag trunk,
Kelly green felt
Palm fronds.
I understand
Its brother and sister trees
Now live in the church attic.
They wait for Palm Sunday
Next year,
Or perhaps
Another tropical occasions.
I am glad
They all
Were saved.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Palm tree

I missed the coffee hour when people made props for VBS (Vacation Bible School).  The palm trees were a sight to behold, not to mention the brown paper vines which hung on all the curtain rods.  I mentioned wanting a palm tree for the corner of the family room which we cleaned out when we got new carpet.  I thought they*d all been tossed or taken.  But no... I found a palm tree smack dab in the center of my therapy office this morning.  Now we just need to figure out how it fit in the car....

I found a palm tree
In my office this morning.
Now it sits next to my window.
It is left over from
Vacation Bible School last week.
VBS had a tropical theme.
The tree looks almost real:
Crumpled brown paper trunk,
Green felt palm fronds.
Sunday I looked all over
For palm tree remains.
There must have been
Twelve of them.
It was to no avail.
Today I found a palm tree
In my office.
It is six feet tall.
It will go home with me
To live in the family room.
I  do wonder
What the cat will do.

Monday, August 6, 2012


My Monday volunteer placement is in the midst of change.  I am only here one day a week.  The change over a week*s time is noticeable.  I watch the various people and pieces make their way into the shift.  Client #1 today noted the change, even though I could not see anything externally.  Change, I think, is always in the air. Sometimes it feels good.

Change is in the air.
It eddies and whirls,
A new wind pattern
Every time the door opens
And shuts;
Every time someone new
Walks in
Or leaves.
Change is in the air.
Change is inevitable.
I sit at lunch and hear others say
Change is good.
I sit with clients
They would like everyone else
To change
So their personal script
Stays the same,
So everyone who comes
And goes
Eddies and whirls
Around them.
I admit this appeals.
Change is in the air.
It is constant.
Sometimes I even experience it
As good.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

What is it?

Today was our turn to play coffee hour host following the 10:30 service.  It was also the Sunday those on the Mexico trip hosted a taco bar in the main hall.  Both at the same time.  I was sure no one would show for coffee hour, but they did.  And ate.  There were no cookies left, and a few grapes.  When we got to the taco bar, there was plenty of food left for us.  Not quite manna and quail, but certainly taco shells and chicken (and all the other taco fixings).  I*m sure this all means something, but I hesitate to name that something too quickly.

I stand in the kitchenette.
Again I wonder
Why I am here.
I cut small bunches of grapes
Heap them in a bowl,
Pour pitchers of ice water,
Lay chocolate chip cookies
On a platter.
Today I am coffee hour host.
Today the lessons are
Manna and quail.
Sweet resin covers the camp
Every morning.
Birds descend
Every night.
What is it?
They ask
What could it possibly be?
This is sermon number two
Of a series on John, chapter six.
I am the Bread of Life
He says
Unless you eat of me…
The disciples are confused,
Royally confused.
Here I am
In the kitchenette.
I make coffee,
Place goldfish crackers
In a bowl.
It is my turn to play
Coffee hour host,
Even though there are tacos
In the main hall.
I am confused
About all this food.
What is it?
I ask you
What could it possibly be?
Today again I wonder
Why I am here.
I am confused,
Royally confused.
I pour coffee and ice water.
Clean up the kitchenette.
I go to the main hall.
There are still tacos
Left over.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Impeded stream

This feels to be a time of waiting and noticing.  In addition to seeing all I have not done (in the backyard and elsewhere), I also see the lone rose and the catbird.  I almost hear the singing.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.
                                                Wendell Berry, in The Real Work

As everyone else seems to do
End of summer things,
Last minute vacations,
I stare at the back yard.
It has gotten little attention from me
In the heat.
The fountain planter
Is filled with weeds.
They grow at the feet
Of the boy and girl.
They hold an umbrella
Between them.
The weeds are almost attractive
In their unplantedness
They grow at the feet
Of the young couple.
The hose lies
Anything but neat
On the cement patio.
One small magenta rose
Hides in the overgrown scraggle
Of what is still
A rose bush.
The drainage ditch beyond the back yard
Barely flows.
Sometimes it masquerades
As a creek
A stream.
It has many disguises.
There is enough water there
For one lone catbird to find it
And delight.
In quiet times
Like today
I almost hear the singing.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Confines of freedom

I think it is easy to focus on what we don*t have, instead of what we do.  I cannot drive and find I am settled back into this.  Even though there is a car in the driveway, parked under the mulberry tree, its windshield coated in mulberry juice, I have come to think of it as a driveway prop.   It is blessedly quiet at home.  There is space here to think and write, and contemplate the boundaries of who and what and how I am to serve.  Here freedom is confined.  

Today I am home.
My daughter attends
A three day concert.
My husband is at work.
Tonight he attends
An evening
Today it is me and the cat
And the turtle.
Today the confines of freedom
Allow me to write
To think
To walk when it*s cooler.
There is a chipmunk in back.
He lives under the planter.
I do not have to share the house
With birds.
The boundaries,
The confines
 Of freedom
Are expansive enough.
Were I here a thousand days,
It seems
I could not
Exhaust them.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Letter police

Now I am listed on an official therapy website.  Ironic that it is the community college certificate which enables me to do this.  I use the LPC in my volunteer work, but not out of my office at church.  I have an official supervisor at the volunteer site, but the person who was my supervisor is now someone with whom I consult.  I am not marketing myself as a licensed anything.  I do counseling and spiritual direction and consultation.  For those who don*t understand the Sardines reference: it is a game in which the goal is for everyone to find the person hiding and cram into one location.  The game ends... when everyone is found.

Now I am safely listed.
The letter police cannot find me
I have a supervisor
For my volunteer work
A consultant
For everything else.
Everything I do
Counts as something.
It always did anyway.
Now I use particular letters
In particular places.
I re-learn
The lay of the land,
The boundaries and borders,
The places the grass grows
And where it lies
This is a different game
Of trick or treat,
Or maybe
Hide and Seek.
I*d much rather play

Wednesday, August 1, 2012


Joseph of Arimathea is remembered today for one thing, really.  He took care that Jesus had a place to be buried.  He gave his own tomb.  No question about it.

Joseph took the body
I mean the Body
Jesus the Christ
Sarx and soma
Flesh and spirit.
The Arimathean
Used proper oils and spices,
Saw to the proper burial
Behind a proper stone.
No real question about it
For those who saw
For those who knew
So He could rise again
Always and blessedly

Find the right job

Even though I no longer believe in the right job, I still can*t quite bring myself to cancel this email that arrives in my box every morning.  I don*t even read it.

Find the right job!
The email arrives every morning.
It comes with a listing of jobs.
They are anything but right.
I do not open the emails anymore.
I cannot find it in myself
To cancel
The every morning subscription.
It costs nothing
To subscribe,
Only a finger stroke
To delete.
One more email.
Months ago
It seemed good
To subscribe.
It*s not time yet
To cancel
Even though I do not open the emails
Maybe tomorrow.