Let’s not begin
with snow.

I don’t want to begin
with snow.

I want to begin
with flowers
& spring green
& swollen rivers racing toward the sea.

I want to begin
after —
after everything begins.

Things mostly begin
underground —
in the damp
& the dirt
& the dark.

Underground —
where things are murky
& messy
& sometimes hard
& often tangled.

I want to begin
after that!

I want to begin
with hope
& promise
& softness
& color.

Haven’t we all had enough of hard?

Please
please
don’t misunderstand me.

I know
that suffering can be the beginning of
compassion
& character
& eyes that can see in the dark.

At least
if you allow it to be.

I am not discounting any of that.

But do we
always
have to get there
that way?

Can’t we
sometimes
take a
different path?

True, the new path might be hard in its own way.

Allowing pleasure
& generosity
& ease
& joy
feels vulnerable.

Vulnerability can be hard too.

But will we really be
any less
for not having suffered
even more?

I suspect not.

So that is what I wish for you today:
Even more.

Even more joy.
Even more rest.
Even more love.
Even more kindness.

green smells like a bed of pine needles,
like a freshly mowed lawn,
like tiny birch leaves.

green smells like an unfurling fern –
stretching
reaching
opening to the light.

The sun is shining.
Surrounded by snow sparkle,
I feel cold and warm.

i see tarnish & tarragon;
wolves & war;
distance & dissonance;
smoke & scorn.

i hear cradles & crescent moons;
ombre & ore;
sunlight & steamboats;
youth & yore.

i smell eggshells & evening;
lovers & lore;
wings & weather;
neither & nor.

i taste roses & rainbows;
worry & warm;
languid & licorice;
theory & thor.

i touch midnight & memory;
stardust & shore;
anise & anger;
forever & for.

i’m rattling the earth
from a cage without bars.
i’m silent as fury
in wars about wars.

i spit and i sputter –
snap crackle and scorn.
i wait and i wither –
beholden and torn.

surrounded yet lonely,
i’m chilled to the bone.
my spirit is weary.
my heart-strings are worn.

there’s chaos within
and destruction without.
down float feathers from angels;
a bomb took them out.

i can’t seem to find me
in darkness and night;
until i remember
i’m darkness and light.

it’s 3am –
the dead of night.
my fears have grown
larger than life.

the trees are black
in the blackest night.
they pierce my heart
with shards of ice.

the shadows are long;
they pull me in.
my life seems over
before it begins.

the wolves are howling,
their voices raw.
they’re on my trail,
nose to the ground.

the water is calling;
it’s running aground.
its black depths surround me;
it wants me to drown.

when daylight comes,
they’re all my friends.
the light stops the stories
that swim in my head.

water was my first home.
for 9 months, i floated in a warm salty sea.

it
was
dark
      & close
            & loud.

lub-dub.
lub-dub.
lub-dub.

the steady rhythm of my mother’s heartbeat soothed me.

water was my first home.
whenever i am in the lake –

where watery arms cradle me,
where waves sing to me –

somewhere
deep
inside,

i remember.

i remember how the water slipped & slid & tumbled down the black rocks. when it reached the bottom of the falls, it raced along the river banks and careened around the bend as if it were late for a date with its beloved friend the sea.

the light that afternoon was like an indulgent smile bestowed on a dearly beloved child.

what i mean by that is: the light didn’t try to stop the river; the light didn’t admonish the river for hurrying; the light simply watched the river run and loved it more than anything.

i curl up at the foot of the bed,
a stack of pillows behind me,
journal & pen in my hand.

you are lying
lengthwise
on the bed,
(on your bed, you’d say)
your head near me.

you wriggle
backward-forward
backward-forward
backward-forward
until
your head
touches
my thigh.

you push your head against me,
burrowing in.

your head
finally
at rest,
you let out a long groan-sigh.

it says, this is nice.
it says, i am content.
it says, stay.

the sound
enters
my ears,
slips down
my spine,
and lands
in my heart.

if i could,
i would stay
here
forever.

i got crazy beams
& criss-cross seams
& tire tracks on my soul.

i got rattled gears
& rattlesnake ears
& thunderstorms in the snow.

i got panthers with their claws unfurled
& hear the lilies speak through tears
& even after all these years
a still noon tells me no.