anxiety

in the same way that
water drips from the faucet
and breath rises and falls

you are not chains, not fences
not a sunrise
nor sunset
bleeding red to black
black to red

this morning when you woke
you felt the familiar ache in your limbs
and gut

and a series of images and
sounds line the walls of your
foggy memory

what have I done?
and why did I do it?
and how will I mend what I
may have broken?

and not tomorrow
but now

and not with your thoughts
but with your
presence

in the same way that
water drips from the faucet
and breath rises and falls

you find peace

-A

People, Places, and Things

Every first of May I remember
that night we ended up at a bluegrass show
and it felt so natural to stomp and holler
and you twirled me around then we left to make love

Because it had to be love, even though we weren’t together
or else I don’t think I’d be writing about it now

And the memories they all blend together
that wasn’t the first of May, but it was spring
do you ever smell a certain perfume and remember?
or feel a certain breeze and find myself transported
back to any night in a city older than I could ever fathom

Where I learned that I am meant to fall in love with
many moments and places

I have been itching to leave, but then yesterday I remembered
that I love this place in the spring
and I have loved on that bluegrass night
and other places in the springtime, too

It is like how the other day at the women’s art museum
there was an exhibit of photographs from the Southwest
and I recognized a black-and-white mountain
that I saw brown and white snow-capped
when I grew fond of a place for a week and forever

Some days I am starving and on others I eat too much
til I am so full I feel empty
I think memories are like that –
I hunger for more but then I also feel
so full and then sad that I do not remember
the specifics but instead let them blend together

But I know that although I cannot place
the exact day of the bluegrass dance
I write it on the day of the Spanish festival in the valley

In the springtime to melt with the other places and people I have loved then.

-L

unending

Would you believe me if I told you that
there is so much life within you?

E. Tolle writes that we need to pay attention
to the life within our hands, our feet, our lungs.
As a ritual. As a habit. As a reminder.
That the life within us is
the most abundant and important truth we can encounter
each day.

I think, or wager that
As we begin to recognize the life within our own skin,
That we will begin to notice it
everywhere

unending

Perhaps in
the flight pattern of a dozen geese against a gray winter sky
Or in the aphids, bellies swelling with sap from the brassica garden
Or in the granite and volcanic tuft mountain peaks to the east, chiseled and worn
Or in the decay of the forest floor, brown, wet leaves and fungi pouring over rotted fallen logs

but also in
the red roses growing through the metal fence along the sidewalk
the ants hurriedly roaming through the cracks of the asphalt parking lot
the cashier working at the busy grocery store during rush hour

In your hands today, pay attention to the stirring of your own blood

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-A

the highest peak in the valley

The morning after we climbed Blanca, my whole body felt heavy with tiredness, yet light with inspiration. I lay in bed, returning to the side of the mountain and the boulders that angled up towards the peak.

That morning, we dragged ourselves out of our tents into the dark, cold mountainside. We felt the miles we had hiked from the valley floor the day before in our steps, but our steps were much lighter without the weight of our packs.

Through the dark, we navigated ourselves through endless switchbacks and boulder fields, small alpine lakes and streams – precious water trickling below us as we passed. Each foot we gained in elevation, our lungs gasped a little more for air.

The rising sun finally greeted us as we we made it to the ridge between Blanca and Ellison Peaks. There, my whole body screamed with fatigue, a lack of oxygen, but my heart and mind could not wait. I split off from the others, still slowly climbing each boulder, but with each step, adrenaline pulsed through my veins.

After a while of scrambling, walking on all fours up the boulder ridge, I made it to the peak, and it was quiet – perhaps 8 or so in the morning. The sun warmed my bones that were made cold from the miles in the frigid morning.

I collapsed onto a rock and sat, breathing with relief. I propped my head up with my arm against my leg, alone, until a marmot made her way near me.

I’m not sure if it was the surprising feeling of believing myself to be alone, but suddenly discovering that I was not, but for the next couple minutes, I sat next to the marmot and cried.

I had made it to the highest peak in the valley.
I could see everything.

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On Climate Change

they say there are trees older than mountains –
I would like to know them
I would like to ask how it felt to be unknown

I used to make fairy houses out of pine cones
and twigs that fell from the dogwood I would climb
with grass-thatched roofs
and dandelion fences;
and in the morning they were sparkling with dew,
called fairy dust,
that covered my wet feet
as I crept close in the silent morning
to catch a glimpse of something…
but they were gone,
sometimes leaving just a trail of new
mushrooms in their wake.

now, I sit in an office barefoot
and remember the time that a moth against the
dirty window in lamplight
looked like a fairy
without a proper pine cone home.
I still want to know the redwoods
the douglas firs and the sequoias
but I imagine the ancient General Sherman,
unfairly named,
would stand tall and stoic
as he recounted the danger he has seen
from men and women
who grow up
to no longer care
for fairies.

-L

Sketch: I bought an aloe plant today.

I am surrounded by
sounds
accented by
splashes of color
bathed in
warm sunlight.

Dissonance
of two different birds’ songs
mixed with Mexican folk music
and Spanish chatter
carried on the breeze
rising and falling
with the cherry blossoms brushing my feet
and the charcoal dancing across the page
becoming consonance.

I think it is enough to capture
the essence of the thing
rather than the thing
itself.

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-L

hidden resistance

in a world of those that notice the shine of my dress shoes
what do they know of the muddy feet underneath?

the feet spent the morning tending to the earth
from garden to garden they guided the body

though the eyes behold the process,
the feet understand how the earth is grateful for that first drink of water
in the same way that they too find comfort in
the soft soil fresh with morning dew

though the hands planted the seeds,
the feet notice, step around, as they sprout above the soil
beckoning the sun to feed them
for the feet also find energy in the light

in this way
i suppose i do not believe that i need to be clean
or fragranced
or styled
in the same way day after day

my prayer each morning is that
i may find delight in the life
that i am surrounded by

outside, in the sun this morning
I wanted to lay down
bury myself in the earth
like a bolita bean seed,
crack out of this shell,
and grow

-A