a ritual to start the work week
A clay pot hardening in extreme
heat; a hawk hanging half-circle
ahead of the dive; a finished draft
not quite sent: change stays quiet
for a while, even as it churns.
Listen for the hush of it, my loves,
notice the peace of the unknown
in the moments the kiln cools
and remains closed, when the work is
neither whole nor shattered. Focus
on the breath crowding your lungs
before the first note is sung.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
And so you continue, unquestionably,
undeniable as sunrise, irrepressible
as moonglow bounding off the sea.
Within hours, the planets picked
up by your pull multiply, drawn to orbit
your perfect pudge, dewy morning,
curious eyes. A whole solar
system of adoration springs up
in mere moments, spreading outward
tidal wave and sonic boom, a trillion
hearts changing shape
at once, bending
toward your beginning,
altering their course to your bidding. This time,
the match lights, the flame burns
pink-white soft and so hot, blazes
inescapable in our gaze and changes
us forever.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Gutters gush uncaring of their
insufficience, unaware of what
they drop, proud
to direct what they can. Spillage
drains down bricks, dumps
and drips, splatters asphalt
wreckage, failures of
bent systems built for nowhere
near this spewage. But the gutters
go on unafraid, clinging
to the eaves, accepting what
they can hold, letting the rest
overflow.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
It happens anyway. All of it —
the skyward creep of grass; the bustle
of birdsong; the slow arabesque
of sunrise; growth; hunger. The bloom
begs to be plucked, the cup sipped,
the candle lit. Why not pause
for a bit? Sit a spell — smell what arose
right in front of you, right now,
however gentle or sharp. Why not
hold the knife without cutting?
Watch it glint. Why not squint
into the sun and hold its gaze?
Savor it — bubbly, brisk
and bittersweet; copper and flame
sweating on ice, leaving rings
to seep and stain; easing the grip
on going, on doing, on done.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Early summer weighs heavy
in this May daze; the sense
that there’s no escape constricts
fist-like in our chests. Rest slips
through our fingers: rain fizzling
as it hits hot concrete. Nothing left
for it but to soak, snake coil
on midday mountaintop outcrop,
eat up the heat and let it egg
lump through our gullets, hatching
it within to feed our own
fragile futures, a nest
to find winter respite.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Seek freedom like the dishes,
like laundry and dusting and mowing
the lawn. Notice all the links
in the chains that hang heavy
on your shoulders, rooting you to
the stone wall you built yourself,
should by should, a private hell
of cold dependencies. Name them.
Make a list and drive your pen
through each one as you see it
for what it is. They come
and they come, every day another
remnant of what could have been
hardening into an iron loop
to hold you tighter. But these
brittle rings crumble under scrutiny,
snap and fade with just
a little care, a regular tending.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Open the book to break
the spine, to break the mind
of fretful habits and downcast
eyes, the doom that spirals deep
inside; unwind malaise; unknit
to rise; unmake the bed
where nightmares lie, where
tired rhymes just multiply;
defy the order; decry the law
that strikes imbalance, that spits
and saws a body in two
and calls it art, lights a world
on fire and calls it war; open
the book and crease the page;
unfold before it; behold its rage.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
I've got no love today. No
bananas or watermelons either,
all nourish and sweetness sucked
dry by this feeling of rind
and peel, scraped empty of flesh,
squeezed and juiceless, made useless
save to feed the worms. No love
note then, today, for I can not give
what I do not have, not for this
world, not in this world, where want
and wish pick us clean of the muscle
and fat we need to work and withstand
its horrors and all the ways
we forget each other and that
we could fix each other too if only
we really want to.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Feel how we push, firm
shouldered into the sun, all
bask and quench. Hear
how we echo and harmonize,
petal dishes gathering up
each other’s wobbling
waves. Taste this rain
that douses us, how we drink
and reach and drink and
see how we shine
in each other, gain
and grow within our plots
whether shared or not, how
each pot holds root stem bloom
apart and yet as one.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Bring me lawn spark;
bring me glimmer from the far
end of winter’s gullet; bring me
sky shot and sun reach;
bring me fresh
blanket; bring me
air that spikes and sparkles,
lights up my insides and makes me fight
for clarity and ease; bring
me trees; bring me
flora font overflow and
unfurl; bring me sternum
and toe and palm; bring me pond
scum and duck
weed; bring me green.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
+ note us, our breath, rise and fall
+ hold their water howsoever you can
+ unfold your soggy scribbled love notes
+ dance under thunder, under star
+ walk open-handed and open-eyed on and on
+ pull the flame closer, spark and pinch
+ grasp for hidden gems just underfoot
love notes
a ritual to start the week
