bittersweet

we watch buds sprout past

one dead leaf that won't let go

spring is bittersweet

treasured

every warm day
in April should be treasured
frost comes tomorrow

how do you look away

Seasonal Clearance!

Condensation Closeout!

End of Season Sale on Snow!

Everything Must Go!

The sky is using

all remaining

winter inventory 

today!

Small, hard, pellet snow, check!
Medium, dry, shaken snow globe snow, check!
Medium, fluffy, sedately swirling snow, check!
Big, wet, sloppy snow, check!

How do you look away from this 

beautiful spring chaos?

the first snow (April 8)

tiny hard styrofoam pellet snow 

tapping down en masse

shows through darkened glass 

as frantic darker grey on gray

and piles up in the grass

when living in the darkness

She talks about how there is no
faith tradition for evangelicals
to follow in the times when one
is living in the dark.  True.
Disciplines and rituals aren't
for evangelicals.  Emotions are more
important and true than
"smells and bells", and where
does that leave those
deep in dark depression
who feel
nothing?
Nowhere
alone.
False.  This
is why it's important to tell true stories
of our times in the darkness,
for truth is light and hope, and hope
in the midst of darkness is
sometimes the only
gift of love we
can give
each other.

Wondering how much sleep will be enough

How many nights of better sleep will be 

enough to make up for eleven years of 

not enough?  How many nights will my 

brain take to reset and my body to heal 

and finally 

feel rested?

what's that sound?

Stop to listen to
tip tap of tiny hail
April showers, go!

not lost yet

snow floating past buds
on winter bare trees whispers
we have not lost yet

virga

we watch through windows
rain falls from clouds far away
on someone else's heads?

Now I Walk in Beauty

plants are waking up
sending out shoots and budding
we walk in new life

reasons for the quest

to sleep, perchance to dream

and to remember dreams,

to remember anything at all

really, to clear out some of this

fog, to be able to choose to live

in the moment instead of being

reduced to it, to see more clearly

and be present more fully, to

be able to cope and not cry all

the time over nothing and every

thing, to be part of community

to serve instead of being served

or hiding or running and stumbling

to be more fully awake to the

world as the seasons turn and I

grow older with the world because

even though it's scary and possibly

dangerous, maybe this time it will

work, and I can begin to heal if

I do not give up and lose all hope

Trees are weeping

Trees are weeping sap
from all their broken places
winter's losing ground

another email with no heartbeat

What do you do when
you get another
email about a
nephew you will not
have the chance to know

because your sister
has had another
miscarriage, and you
have no way to give
her any comfort?

I write a poem.
It doesn't really
help anything, but
I still have to write
to make space for tears.

soon

purple dusk sky rests

on bare, weary branches, but

spring is coming soon

not yet

purple dusk sky pierced

by sharp, black winter branches

spring is not here yet

How many people does it take to change a light bulb if one of them is me?

I am wondering if I should call my elderly neighbor the retired cop over to hold the chair while I try to change the ceiling lightbulb. I'm not sure it would actually help. Just because someone else is here does not mean I will be less likely to get dizzy or lose my balance and fall off the chair, and I'd feel terrible if I squashed and injured him if I fell. These are not the things I though I'd be concerned about in my mid thirties.  Sigh.

such extravagance

such extravagance

Minnesota winter sun

diamonds everywhere

the wrong foot

I hate
how an accidentally
too-long hike can destroy
my health for half a year and
already be eating
into this year,
too.

thoughts at the end

Today
was for writing
for reminding myself that
even though it was not my best year in any other way
I still wrote more
than the year before,
and if that is not a success,
what is?

fractured prose

The shameless self-promotion 

from the Facebook group read, 

'Looking for the perfect 

CHRISTMAS PRESENT for that friend 

or relative who loves poetry 

and laments the fact that modern 

"poets" have abandoned it 

for fractured prose?' I was

inexplicably delighted by

this accurate characterization 

of what I write, as if it had

no value or purpose or reason

for existing when, for me, 

it represents how I think

with my bent toward narrative

prose combined with my fractured 

concentration and attention 

span because of the pain 

and the sleeplessness

it causes, so thank you,

disparaging and dismissive

and self-righteous poet busy

flogging your own obviously 

superior form of writing, for

unintentionally presenting me 

with the gift of words 

to accurately describe 

my own.  : )