a carrot in hand

when you returned from
cuba, i picked you up
from the airport in denver,
at midnight – so dark,
winter stars shone and
i brought you a carrot

a month apart, so early
into our relationship –
i remember sitting by
the baggage corral,
knees tucked to my chest,
trying to keep from shaking

i don’t own you, no
nor do you own me

but we are pulled
to one another by
magnetism of skin
and bones

i always want to know,
look for clues,
ask everyone

when i returned from
a wedding in ohio,
you picked me up from
the airport in denver,
midday, sun bright and
sky blue

i saw you as i exited the terminal,
a smile on your face and
a carrot in your hand

this must be
how it works


morning reflections while drinking tea with milk

Gratitude for plasticity. For the dynamic nature of existence.

I sit here, in color. In warmth. In sound. How do I reconcile my access to comfort, to beauty? Does it cost someone else something?

I am so grateful for song, melody. My own song and the songs of others. How truly awe-inspiring to hear birds sing. Insects chirp. Wind howl through frozen branches.

I am so grateful for creativity. For the collective consciousness and creativity of life. Seeds carry themselves across the breeze. Attach themselves to my sleeves.

For the blood that drips from my cavern, reminding me to pay attention. To dip into myself like a well, a spring, that provides me the strength to rise, to sacrifice, to be still.

For taste, for connection.
For hair, for grasslands, the prairie.
For lessons in trees, in roofs, in dirt, in age.

I sit on my knees. I kiss the ground. The ground kisses my forehead.
I see myself. I see everyone, everything.

I will treat you better.