TangledWings

A Poem for Thursday

They lie across the bed side by side
facing each other, their bodies only
a breath apart.  They both carry secrets
in their brown eyes, they both have hidden
and visible scars, they have both grown old,
grown into a place where they are tired,
tired of having too little and being afraid
of giving too much.

"I'm not sure I know how to do this,"
he whispers tentatively as he brushes
a few strands of hair from her face
with his fingertips.
"Neither do I,"
she assures him.
"All this is new to me and I'm scared.
Everyday I want to turn and run
the other way."
"Me too," she whispers,
pulling his body closer to her own,
resting her face on his weathered skin,
"but I'm so tired of never showing up
and loving only a little.
I don't want to be afraid of being loved
or worse, of being seen.
I'm too old for games and lies
and holding back.
I'm too old to not take this risk,
to not stand here with nothing
between us.  I'm too old to
only give you parts of myself
instead of my whole self.
I'm too old to keep hiding,
to keep tucking pieces of myself away.
If I keep holding on to them
I'll never fall apart and if
I don't fall apart I'll never find myself.
I choose you.
I choose you to push against,
to scream at, to make love with,
to discover myself with and
I want to be brave enough
to give you all my humanness.
I want to be brave enough
to accept all of yours."

"What if I can't sit
in so much love?  What if
I can't accept so much
humanness?  What if
I can't look you in the eyes or
let you look in mine?  What if
I can't let myself be loved?"
he asks, his head bowed and
his fingers laced between hers
as if in prayer.
"We could start with a few promises.
We could promise if we want to run
we'll tell the other.  We could promise
if it gets too be too much we'll say when,
than back away until we're ready for more.
We could promise to look each other
in the face.  We could promise
not to lie to ourselves any longer.
We could promise we're in this together."
He wants to make promises
just as she wants to make promises.
He wants to know who he really is.
She wants to discover all her secrets.
He wants to fall in and never look back.
She wants to open her arms
and take it all in.
He closes his eyes, bites his lower lip,
falls into her body and whispers
his answer in her ear.
She breathes in the scent of his skin,
kissing him lightly on his graying temple,
then lets herself slip into the
dark corner of his chest.

And that's what could have happened,
and that's what could have been,
if only one of them had rolled over,
if only one of them had given in,
if only one of them had found the courage
to clear their throat and stop
staring at the wall.

The Great Boot Search

So here is the story about my boots (see previous post):

I suddenly got this craving to own a pair of western boots that I could wear with skirts.  It was one of those 'it would be a great tragedy to die without a pair of boots' kind of craving, a 'life just won't be the same without boots' kind of craving.  The craving really took me by surprise because I had sworn off anything cowboy related for two reasons--1) I live in Texas and well that is just so cliche and 2) I went through what we in Texas would call a 'grit' phase in high school.  Believe it or not I was a blue-corduroy-jacket wearing member of the FFA (for those of you who don't know that stands for Future Farmers of America.)  If you don't believe me I have a belt buckle to prove it.  One year my chickens one first place in a local show and the prize was I nice, and very large, belt buckle.  So back in those days I wore my fair share of Wranglers and ropers...and once I realized what that phase was all about I decided never again would I wear a pair of boots.  But western boots and ropers aren't quite the same thing.  They're in the same shoe family but they're still different.  It's kind of like sandals and flip-flops...same family but very distinct differences.  Despite my promise to never wear another pair of boots I couldn't get the thought of western boots with skirts out of my mind.  I just had to have a pair. 

The search began with a little on-line perusing of Boot Barn's website with my bestest friend.  We would e-mail links of favorite boots back and forth.  "Oh look at these!"..."I really think you need these!"..."Check this pair out."..."What do you think about these?"..."I really like this pair but they're way out of my price range."  I had a little bit of an idea of what I wanted (something neutral that would go well with a variety of clothing options) and an idea of the price I was willing to pay.  Like I've mentioned before I'm just not a big clothing/shoe fan and I'm rarely willing to invest a lot of money in either one.  I mean I could pay $60 for a pair of Gap jeans or I could have 3 new poetry books...or the new Foo Fighters cd, a book of poetry, and a copy of Pirates of the Caribbean 3.  One can live without Gap jeans but one cannot live without Sharon Olds.  So I knew going into this that I really didn't want to spend much more than $100.  Like I said I just don't often spend much money on clothes or shoes...including boots that I think I just might die without.

I had this big photo gig and decided to take a portion of the money earned from that gig to purchase myself my longed for boots.  One Saturday morning the B-Dog and I loaded up in the car and begin our search.  This was an unfortunate Saturday to go boot buying for three reasons--1) T had to work on this particular Saturday so the B-Dog would have to accompany me.  That might not be all bad except it's really difficult to focus on a mission as important as this one when you also have to give your undivided attention to a child...a 4 year-old at that.  It's kind of like patting your tummy and rubbing your head at the same time...or is it rubbing your tummy and patting your head?  Trying to do two things at once when both things are equally important and require great amounts of attention can be difficult.  And it's shopping for god's sake.  What 4 year-old wants to be hauled all around town on a perfectly good Saturday to buy a pair of boots for his mom?  Reason number 2--it was damn hot that day.  I mean hotter than hell hot.  I mean burn your hands on the steering wheel hot.  And that kind of hot is just plain miserable...especially when you're accompanied by a 4 year-old who'd rather be at home pretending he's one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (usually Leo).  And then there's reason number 3--my bestest friend was going to be out of town.  Who would I consult?  Who would offer an unbiased opinion about my choices?  Who would keep me from being overwhelmed by my choices and give me ideas about possible outfits to go with said boots?  Now you might be thinking, well why didn't you just put it off until another Saturday?  Please!  It was one of those 'I gotta have it now, I just can't wait another day' kind of moments.

Store number one didn't have a very large variety but they did have a brown pair I tried on and liked (it was this pair and I do think I'd like to eventually go back and buy them.)  But I only 'liked' them.  I wanted boots that I LOVED.  I wanted boots that when I saw them I knew they were MY BOOTS.  So I told the nice sales clerk I wanted to look around a bit more but I might be back.  At store number two there was absolutely nothing within my price range so the B-Dog and I basically walked in, turned around, and walked right out.  I didn't have any luck at store number 3 either.  Store number 4 was having a nice sale so we spent a good portion of our boot search trying on multiple pairs of boots at this store.  There were a couple of pairs that I really liked but they were too expensive.  And then there was a pair similar to this pair.  I liked them and they were on sale.  Something about the dual-toned appealed to me.  I think it's because I think I remember my dad owning a similar pair so they felt nice and familiar.  But I didn't love them and they only had them in a 7 (I wear a 6).  A 7 would have worked with extra thick socks but again I wasn't totally in love with them.  By this point I was beginning to think today wouldn't be my boot buying day.  I was running out of western stores.  There was one more large chain store and then I would have to hit the smaller 'mom & pop' locally owned stores.  I called T up on his cell phone so he could search the Internet for names and addresses of western stores I may have forgotten about.  I was feeling overwhelmed and panicked so I called my bestest friend up (even though she wasn't even in the same state) and left her a voice mail about my boot woes.  She called me back to comfort me just as the B-Dog and I were pulling into the parking lot of store number 5.  I was telling her about my choices and my uncertainties as we were entering the store.  A few feet past the entrance I noticed a display of boots and there they were--MY BOOTS.  I told my friend I had to go because I had found them.  I had found the boots of my dreams, the boots I'd been waiting for oh so many days and nights.  And of course they didn't have a price tag so I just knew I wasn't going to be able to afford them.  B and I made our way to the women's section and I found another pair with a price tag.  Although there were almost double what I wanted to spend I didn't care.  I loved them.  They had to come home with me.  And of course they didn't have my size.  But I tried on the next closest size and once they were on my feet everything was confirmed--yes, these were MY BOOTS screw the price.  So I walked them up to the sales counter and requested they order a pair in my size.  Peeps, I had to wait almost 4 weeks for these boots.  For four weeks I waited impatiently for these boots.  For four weeks I tried to describe them to my bestest friend since she wasn't able to be there for the grand purchase.  For four weeks I dreamed of what I would look like when I had them on.  For four weeks I smiled just thinking about them and that's what saw me through those four long weeks. 

Finally they arrived and the B-Dog and I went one afternoon after work to pick them up.  It was so exciting to take them out of the box and just look at them...and touch them...and smell them...and hold them lovingly up to my cheek.  And yes I wore them all night...with my pjs.

Like I said I haven't worn them as much as I thought I would not because I don't love them (oh I do) but because I still don't know exactly how to wear them or what to wear them with.  I'll see women around with great outfits on and I'll think, oh my boots would look SO good with that.  But I don't seem to have anything in my closest that I think, oh my boots would look SO good with that.  So I've got to start building a boot wardrobe...and live with a little less Sharon Olds...at least for the moment.   

SPC {What I Wear-3}

What I think is just as interesting as what we wear is what we don’t wear…or maybe I should say what we don’t let ourselves wear...you know, those things you can imagine yourself in yet you never wear...those things you long to wear and yet you hold back.  If you’re anything like me then every once in awhile you’ll catch a little glimpse of yourself, in a vision, in a dream, in a daydream, and you’ll realize that who you are now and who that person is in the daydream are pretty widely separated.  It’s not that one is any more true than the other.  It’s just that they’re different pieces of you.  I have a piece that’s pretty subdued and wears mainly t-shirts with skirts/slacks/jeans...and panty hose...and then I have other pieces that are a little more exciting, a little more eclectic, and little more outrageous and adventurous.  Both are true of me.  But I have recognized that I tend to live more out of the subdued piece than the more fun, bold, bohemian pieces.  There are different reasons for that.  For one, sometimes I doubt I could really pull off the look I have in my head, my dream, my daydream.  For instance, I love tattoos.  I have three.  But if I really gave into my fancy…and if I had the money…I’d be covered in tattoos.  I love them that much.  A good friend and I love to regularly visit our favorite local sandwich shop.  It’s next door to a tattoo parlor and was started by the wife of the owner of the tattoo parlor.  Having a lot of tattoos is almost a prerequisite for working at this sandwich shop.  I see these beautiful bohemian women covered in color and I think, god I wish I could pull that off.  But I’m not certain I could.  I think I’d either look trashy or worse, I'd look like a wannabe.  I’m a little too conservative to pull it off.  Or maybe it’s just that I feel too conservative.  Maybe that’s not actually how other people perceive me but the way I perceive myself.  I know inside I'm not conservative but I tend to have a hard time shaking that on the outside.

Which brings me to reason number 2: self-perception.  I have always felt like the cute one.  The one who wears lots of pink and lots of lace and lots of ‘cute’ shoes, etc.  And there is a part of me that is cute.  But I think at some point I grabbed onto that label so tightly that dressing any other way feels…well…it feels odd.  I know there are so many other versions of myself that lie right under the surface but I don’t know how to move into those versions because I don’t know exactly how to let go of the perception of myself as cute.  Now there’s nothing wrong with cute so I hope you’re not hearing me say that.  Cute is fine.  But that’s not all I am.  I am so many other things that I just don’t know how to get to, how to express.  When I try and it goes against my self-perception it just feels uncomfortable.

And then there’s reason number 3 for why I don’t let myself wear some of the things I’d like to wear: I’m scared of what other people will think/say.  I’m afraid of other people’s opinions.  So I choose to play it safe and stay with a style that only reveals a sliver of who I truly am.  Women are the worst about this.  I don’t know that men notice what women wear (unless it’s something really revealing or something really outrageous) nearly as much as women do.  I’ve never heard a man whisper to another man, who does she think she is today wearing that dress?  Oh but I’ve heard women whisper to other women.  And god I hate being talked about.  Don’t you?  Sadly I hate it so much that I rarely take chances.  I rarely go for something a little more ‘creative’ and instead stick with the basics—the skirt and t-shirt.

I started this month’s SPC out by talking about not feeling like I have style, feeling like I don’t really have a “look.”  Maybe part of that is because I’m not really willing to invest a lot of money into a wardrobe.  I like to spend my money on other things…like poetry books.  Maybe part of that is because I have so many pieces of myself vying for attention that I’m not certain which one to dress.  Maybe part of that is because I haven’t quite learned how to not give a shit about other people’s opinions and to shrug off any behind-the-back talk.  And maybe part of that is because I’m still holding on to a perception of myself that is limited and incomplete.  I haven’t surrendered to the vision of myself I see in dreams and daydreams and I’m still holding on to what is familiar, comfortable, and expected.  I’m still seeing myself as someone I’ve outgrown.

There seem to be several themes running in my life right now and one of those themes is owning my life, creating my life, clarifying and defining the vision I have of myself.  In some areas that has been a little easier than in other areas.  When it comes to letting clothing express what dwells on the inside I know I’ve had several different visions of myself over the years.  About 7 or so years ago, before B was born, if you’d asked me what one article of clothing I really wanted to own I would have said some type of cape...like this one.  I was in a very Fleetwood Mac phase at the time and totally adored Stevie Nicks.  Before that I wanted a crunched up cowboy hat.  At the time they weren’t nearly as popular as they are now and I had a really difficult time finding one.  Now I find myself drawn to cowboy boots.  I want a whole variety that I can wear with skirts and dresses.  The summer before this past summer I went with my mom to visit a high school friend of hers who lives a little more than an hour away from Santa Fe.  I love that area.  Something about the desert, that wide expanse of space and sky, the small accents of color on an otherwise brown canvas, the crumbling remnants of a time that no longer exists, all of that really appeals to me.  Since that trip I have seen myself more than once roaming around the desert, my camera around my neck, wearing boots with my skirts.  So you know I just had to break down and buy myself a pair (which is a pretty great story that I might share sometime but not tonight as this post is already getting too long.)  I haven’t worn them very often because, although I love them and will often just pull them out of the closet to lovingly stare at them, I don’t exactly know how to wear them.  I don’t know how to get the ‘look’ I want and nothing in my closet seems to match that ‘look,’  I also struggle to wear them because I don’t feel quite at home with them yet.  I’m still holding back a little…still a little afraid of the unfamiliar feeling they illicit…and still a little scared of possible comments that might be made in my direction such as, who the hell does she think she is today, wearing her boots like she's all that?  But I’m working on owning this part of myself, this vision of myself as someone a little more free-spirited than I normally express.

If I look at all these examples of clothing cravings there seems to be an underlying theme linking them together.  For me each article (the cape, the crunched up cowboy hat, the boots) represents a part of myself I don’t allow to have much breathing room.  They represent a piece of myself that is more bohemian, more free, more alive, more colorful, more powerful, more self-assured, more self-possessed.  So when these clothing cravings sneak up on me, when I can’t stop seeing myself in boots with skirts that drag in the desert dirt and get caught on cacti, I know it’s because there is something I need to pay attention to.  I know those cravings are hints about all the ways I don’t express myself.  They're symbols of everything that’s real and true that I keep locked away out of sight.  I know it’s my own spirit just wanting to have permission to be a little bigger, a little more real, a little more expressive.  I know those cravings are pieces of myself crying out to be set free.  They're expressions of my longing to be a more complete version of myself.  So when you see me wearing my boots know that today I had the courage to be a little more of the person I know I am underneath the labels, the fears, the discomfort, the doubts, the past, the insecurities.  I had the courage to be a fuller version of myself than the limited version I so often cling to out of familiarity and comfort.   

I heart Amy

Very soon after making the decision to become a vegan I discovered Amy's Organics...and let me tell ya...Amy's is every busy vegan's best friend.  When my mornings are too busy to put together a delicious colorful salad topped with avocado and kidney beans I toss one of Amy's burritos into my bag and head out the door.  When I'm too tired at night to make my favorite cabbage roll ups with almond dipping sauce I heat up one of Amy's enchilada dishes.  When I've made too much tomato soup and I need a change of pace I open a can of Amy's No Chicken Noodle soup.  And then there's her yummy chili, her Tuscan Bean and Rice soup, and her veggie loaf which saw me through this Thanksgiving holiday.  And just when I thought life couldn't get any better I was meandering around in the freezer section of my local grocery store last week when I spied Amy's cheese-less pizza.  Pizza is one of my weakness and when the guys order pizza I am certain to fall off the vegan wagon.  Sure I could order a pizza without cheese but please...who really wants to do that?  But now that I've discovered Amy's amazingly delicious cheese-less pizza all my pizza problems have been solved.  Roaming around on Amy's site I see that she has many, many more products I have yet to discover...and she has a blog.  I'm not certain my heart can take so much happiness.  Now if only she'd create a vegan cheese I could stomach then all my vegan woes would be solved.

Thankful

I hope all of you are enjoying your Thanksgiving.  So far mine has been filled with good food, nice naps, and snow.  Yeah, I know. I can't believe it either.  When big flakes started to drop from the sky I think we were all a little surprised.

Today I've been thinking about all the things I have to be thankful for.  I have a very long list.  I could probably sit here and type a list that would rival many of yours.  I could probably sit here for the rest of the day and type one thing after another.  But I thought that for today I would concentrate on one thing, that I would think back over the year and hold one very special something in my heart for the day.

As many of you who've been reading my blog for awhile know my uncle lost his life to cancer this past September.  The sadness and surreal-ness of it can still catch me off guard most days.  This will be our first holiday without him.  Today I am grateful for his life, for the man he was, for his spirit which will always be present for as long as God exists, which I guess is forever.  I'm thankful I knew him and loved him.  I am thankful for all the hugs he gave me over the years.  I am thankful that even death can't silence the sound of his laughter.  I am thankful I have tears for him.  I am thankful that for 34 years our lives, our journeys, touched and intersected.  I am thankful that as I sit here and type these words I can close my eyes and remember exactly what he looked like.  I am thankful that in my head I can still hear the exact way he said my aunt's name.  I am thankful for his big heart, his sense of humor, and his playfulness.  Today my one thing is my uncle's life.

What is your one thing?

Rookie Mistakes

I had a post worked out in my head that I wanted to write tonight.  It was this weeks self-portrait post and I'd been tossing around some thoughts for over a week.  All day I'd been looking forward to sitting down, maybe having a cup of tea, and putting my thoughts into words.  Instead I'm heading to bed.  Yes it's not even 9:00 cst but I need to have a good cry.  I told you I would share the important things I learn on this photography journey.  Well tonight I learned a very, very valuable lesson--NEVER EMPTY YOUR RECYCLE BIN UNTIL YOU DOUBLE CHECK IT.  Tonight I came to the horrible realization that three folders totaling about 250+ processed images are gone.  I guess I deleted them.  I've run file searches.  T has searched.  I've given myself a headache looking for them.  I've been short with T, raising my voice and dumping it all on him.  But they're just not there.  They're just gone.  Monday night I burned a disk of images and then deleted the files.  I guess I accidentally deleted these other folders as well.  I'm just sick about it.  I feel much like the little daisy in the above photo.  I just want to cover my head and cry.  I still have the raw images so I haven't lost the images all together...but I may as well have.  Processing all those images took hours upon hours of work.  In a way I almost would have rather lost the raw images.  Now I have to start all over from scratch.  I'm sick about the massive amount of work I'm going to have to put into recreating the processed images.  Not to mention the time.  God I can't even begin to estimate the amount of time that went into those 250+ pics.  I was sitting on the couch in tears and T asked why I hadn't been saving the images as both a PSD and a JPEG.  Um, maybe because I'm new at this and I had no idea I should be doing that.  No one ever told me to save the images in two different formats.  I was processing the images, converting them to JPEGs, and then putting the JPEGS into their own labeled folders while leaving the raw images in the original dated folders.  Lesson #2: SAVE ALL IMAGES AS PSD FILES AND JPEGS.  The JPEGS can still be moved to their own labeled folders while the PSD images remain with the raw images.  Keeping the PSD images will mean you won't have to start all over should you ever do what I did and delete the processed images.  So all you fellow photographers out there, those of you who know the time and energy that goes into processing images, trying to get them just right, editing out small things like spider webs and blemishes, popping the eyes and softening the colors, spending endless hours making certain each image is just the way you want it, please leave me a word of encouragement because right now I am so freakin' discouraged, not to mention pissed at myself, and completely overwhelmed, that I don't even know where to start.  That's why I'm starting by just crawling into bed and pulling the blankets over my head and having a really good cry.  God this freakin' sucks.

Happiest

Dear You,

For the past several weeks I have been keeping a log of my happiest moment of the day.  I’ll stop before going to bed, think back over the day, remember how the various moments of my day made me feel, and then try to center on that one moment that just had a little extra something, that moment when I couldn’t stop smiling, that moment I felt most alive.  Do you know what I realized?  Nine times out of ten my happiest moment of the day in some way, shape, or form involves you.  Thank you for just being you.  I’m so glad you picked me to be your mama.

Shifting Expecations

I haven’t said much about my photography business lately so I thought this would be as good a time as any to give you a little update on how everything is going.

What can I say other than I’m letting it flow. Sometimes I think that’s a cop out and other times I’m wise enough and gracious enough to realize that when you already have a full time job and a family that includes a 4 year old sometimes letting it flow is about all you can do. When I originally decided to create Tangled Wings Photography almost a year ago I had very different expectations for my business than I do now.  Most of those expectations have shifted as I have embraced what I know I can and cannot do.  Again some days that feels like a cop out and other days I know it’s the wisest and most gracious gift I can give myself.  When I launched this little business of mine the excitement of it all had me dreaming big and bold.  Success looked a very certain and specific way.  I would be successful when I was able to quit my day job and only pursue photography.  I would be successful when I was making X amount of money a month.  I would be successful if I had X number of photo shoots a month.  I would be successful when I had been featured in X number of publications and had received X amount of recognition for my work.  I would be successful when asked to exhibit my work at X number of locations and X number of shows.  Maybe I even told myself I would be successful when I’d won X number of awards. 

About 8 months into this I realized my definition of success would have to change or a) I would stress myself out making myself both sick and crazy and b) I would start to hate photography and never want to pick up my camera again.  The photo shoots themselves weren’t a big deal but the post-processing was killing me especially since I am learning Photo Shop as I go along.  In August I decided I would have to adjust my expectations of myself.  There just weren’t many other options if I wanted to stay sane and healthy and continue to enjoy photography.  Don’t think there weren’t some moments of panic.  Don’t think I didn’t doubt myself, my commitment, and my skill.  Don’t think I didn’t compare myself to other budding photographers who were rocking the photography scene, growing by leaps and bounds while I felt like I was lagging behind, not just artistically but professionally.  Don’t think I didn’t toss around the idea that shifting my expectations and letting go made me a failure.  I did.  I did all those things.  But in September something began to shift in me.  That vision I’ve been blogging about lately, the one I’m trying to both clarify and better define in order to create my life, well it was in September that the rumblings of this need to look at my life first began to shake my foundation.  In September I got this burst of creative energy but it was in the form of words and not photo shoots.  I had already been challenging myself to write a poem a day for several weeks and when September hit I just kept on going…and haven’t stopped.  I’ve been writing a lot…poems, journal entries, letters to myself, snippets of things I want to remember in order to use some day in the future.  And I can see how I have grown, how my writing is stronger.  I know this because I’m my worst critic and if I like some of what I’ve been writing lately then I know that’s always a good sign.

And then there’s the personal growth.  Although I haven’t given a lot of specific examples of what’s been going on in my life lately and how things have been changing I think you can sense an undertone of transformation in some of my more recent posts.  I reached a ‘god I’m so tired of this bullshit’ place and once I got there I begin to proactive and less 'playing the victim.'  I began to take back my life and begin to explore what it means to have power, and a voice, and a vision of yourself you want to live from.  Anyone who has ever gone through anything similar can attest to the amount of energy moving into a new way of being can take and how emotionally draining (but in a very good way) it can be. 

So as you can see while my photography business has been a little quiet it doesn’t mean the rest of my life has been quiet.  It’s just means that in order to accommodate other shifts and changes and passions I’ve had to shift my expectations and redefine success.  It’s means I’ve had to surrender to letting it flow and to exploring that ‘vision’ in a more full and extensive way. It means that while I may not be rolling in the dough or have a calendar packed with upcoming photo ops I am still hauling my camera around and learning and strengthen my skill and vision while investing in other creative avenues and exploring other paths along this journey we call life.  When all these shifts began occurring in September one of the things I held tight to was the knowledge that I’m okay right where I am.  This is a good place.  It may not be the place I originally intended it to be but it’s a very, very good place.  And if I only have one photo shoot a month (or less) that doesn’t make me a failure.  I'm still doing this...just a little slower than I had originally anticipated.  And I think the most important piece of knowing I'm wrapping my arms around is that taking it slow and only having sporadic photo gigs and not making a lot of money off my photography doesn’t make me any less a photographer than the next guy.

There’s more I want to say about the business, like my Etsy angst and how things can get tangled when money is involved, but I’ll save those for another post.  Today’s post is just about giving myself permission to shift my expectations so that I can be more open to life and about how nothing about that is a cop out.  It’s a choice to be fuller and to honor how life changes and how growing can change everything.

Sunday Scribblings {What I Carry}

She carries her poems
She carries her poems
like braille across her face
She carries her poems
in her blood and bones
tied to her wrists
and tangled in her hair
She carries them
on her lips and pours them
over his skin as he sleeps
She carries them
in her belly where they become a tree
growing from roots whose fists grip tightly
to the earth's damp flesh
branches reaching from her chest
to finger the sun
leaves with upturned faces
waiting to kiss the stars
She carries her poems
in the train of memory
she drags behind her
through the desert sand
and into the pastel horizon
She carries them
like a raven in the cage of her heart
flapping wildly but without feathers or form
a fierce flier who lifts into the air
once the door is open
and becomes a hawk
in graceful, powerful, attentive flight
She carries them
cupped in her pale hands
then tosses them towards the sky
to be scattered by the wind
weightless dancers twirling in the breeze
She carries her poems
in the dark secrets in her eyes
She carries her poems

A Poem for Thursday

*****in preface to this poem, and because I'm trying to learn to honor my poetry and let others know when something is meaningful for me, i have to say i really like this one.  i'm proud of this one.*****

There was a single cloud still hanging in the air
as the sun slid down the last window of day,
a pink organdy ribbon of a cloud
dangling in the blue-gray sky,
flapping lightly in the brisk autumn air,
and somewhere on the other end of that cloud,
somewhere standing near the edge
of the broken horizon,
there was a girl holding that sheer pink ribbon
between her fingers as her hair, newly let down,
fell to her shoulders, tumbled into her eyes,
got tangled in the few remaining remnants of light.
When I look out across the west and squint my eyes
I see a mirage of her and I want to drop this life
and start some holy pilgrimage to find her.
I want to run down the darkening dirt roads,
tripping on rocks, stirring the moths
from their sleep, until I make it to that crumbling
but surviving desert expanse where she stands
waiting.
I want to be there when that ribbon slips
from her fingers and is carried away by the wind.
I want to see the look on her face as she watches
a sliver of pink disappear from her sight.
I want to see the bashful way she lowers her head,
shaking it slowly in recognition of how easy it was
to let go.
I want to see the smile that breaks across her face,
a smile I want to name but can't quite reach--
confident yes, but more.  Flirtatious, yes,
but that would make it's power so small.
Passionate, brave, knowing, and free--
every word not quite right
but the whole of them all exactly what I see.
I want to see the way she walks into the night
with a new kind of grace, a new kind of courage
and hope spilling from her skin,
a new kind of razor breath filling her lungs.
I want to see the promise that paints her eyes
and leads her back home one step at a time.
But most of all I want to be there when
she glances up and looks in the direction
of the rising harvest moon. 
When the silver light hits her face
I want to see if I can find in her features
any resemblance of my own.