A woman standing in a grassy yard, looking at a birdhouse mounted on a tree, with greenery and a wooden fence in the background.

poems from the soul road

Table of Contents

dandelion

I am a common weed

I used to believe I was at the mercy 

of the wind

whip wirl wack me down

until

I looked 15 feet deep

into my taproot

stitched widespread

into the ground

sturdy thick capable of

accessing deep seated nutrients

making them available  to others

and at the same time

break hard soil

aerating the earth

they roared,

“Nothing can tear you apart!”

I looked up and saw

my crown

regenerating

the three celestial bodies cycling

Oh sun; you glorious yellow light

Oh dispersing seeds like stars

Oh milky white lunar ball,

protecting from any storm

572 wished every time

to live a longevity beyond most

Oh holy flower

Unfolding

I carry the laundry up

and dump in onto the living room floor

with deep hope

that the owners will sort sift fold

any carry it away

it’s predictable

the piles transform into furniture

the dog makes her bed

stretching out 

I yell out short words 

and threats

sometimes I give up, give in

I find a seat, fold and pray

for peace

the news is unfolding

hurts, accidents, illnesses, injustices, losses

my brother just died

there is no way to sort fold and put away

so I ask the dog to move over

I stretch out head to toe

and I unfold

The Wind

The wind has a lot to say today

unlike yesterday under her stale aggressive silence

she swings open the gate

and lets the ghosts in

it is not a storm

or a gentle breeze

she is telling my story

of the last 10 years

the one that started and ended

in hospital beds with plastic white bracelets

there is no fear in the telling

or the listening

The Three Sisters

Today defined what I already knew

I have been holding up the sky all this time

“What do you want to be?”

“One of the three sisters of course

Forsythia, Crocus, or Daffodil”

She who comes before Winter

bids her final farewell

“What do you want to do?”

“Wake up,” she says

As she drinks in the morning sun

and during the day laughs at the absurdity

of holding up the sky

and at night, bows to the moon's holy crescendo

“Who do you want to be?”

“A believer”

The Bending

I used to believe mountains

were for climbing

defining impossibility

an overwhelming task

formed by plates pushing

pulling, a volcanic eruption

a massive collision of

Time

And yet mountains

bend

change

are not defined as everlasting or

Solitary

Impossibility becomes unmasked

I always hated the bend in my back

unseen weight on my shoulders

What if the bending, shifting, changing,

 erosion of time was the holy work

And what if the

impossibility

Overwhelming climb

was just really for us to shift

move closer together

And the bend of my shoulders is

simply a prayer of possibility

Tending

(after breaking before mending)

Gather the sticks

Lay them purposefully over last night’s ashes

I know

The wood is wet from earth’s downpour

Light the match

It will catch

And go out quickly

Many times, seven or seventeen

Clear away the kindling

Begin again

Whisper a steady breath into

the spark

When it goes out

Take three deep breaths

Try again

This is expected

Kneel closer

Add the light

Tend

Tend to the flame like your newborn

Food and air

A gentle breeze

Slowly add denser wood

Find the cracks

Open your lungs

Eventually the light will carry itself

But for now

Wait watch warm your tender heart

Tomorrow you can buy a fire starter

Soften

at 49.9 they removed my uterus

and in the last 8 days

I became soft

like the milkweed

the front tire on the way to the doctors this morning

and my lost cat

I miss her

I don't think it was just the uterus

or 4 babies 

or cancer

or osteoporosis

or Gabe’s diagnosis

or finances, hospitals, houses, jobs 

I survived time

as it

tossed and bossed me in rounds

but

now

a silent eruption of softness


to relax my shoulders

to open

to let go of expectation

to attend

to heal without trying

and grow in capacity for delight

it is time

to become

SOFT

Autobiography

Every first light

I gaze outside my living room window

This Spring it has taken longer

My friend tells me something happened during the winter

A thaw followed by a bossy freeze

I assumed it was my reckless pruning with my rusty ancient trimmers

But as morning took her seat

She leaned in and whispered,

 “It doesn’t matter if the forsythia blooms.”


Falling

Do you know?

bats only fly

from height

falling

into air into space

they cannot take off from solid ground

and just like that

I understand that

my wings are bat wings

and that falling

is the only way

I can

Soar


Enough

my right wing is wounded

wound up tight

over-use injury

bearing the iron of todays and tomorrows

an ancestral pattern needed no more

flying is off limits

she whispers

“Ease up”

“Ease up”

I tell her without saying a word

“I have 4 chicks”

she whispers

“Is there more?”

“Oh yes,

it’s the fear

of not enough”

I bow with my bandaged wing

collapsing into her nest

I try to carry nothing

and in the dark

I hear a whisper

“there is never a shortage

of joy

of peace

of LOVE”

Broken

First it was the family van

too old too tired

then the 17 year old’s car was 1/2 broke

we drove it anyway, shortly after 100 percent broke

the dishwasher

the freezer detached from its mother

the fridge just had enough and full on quit

Chris’s tooth

I feared my body and mind were next

Our credit score

Elliot’s knees from growing too fast

I start to expect, things break

I ride my bike to work and hand wash my dishes

My parents gave us another car named reliable

I study stone walls and stained glass

uneven cracks held with iron and cement

tough as scars

I let go of trying to duct tape everything together

and let the Light in

I collect broken sea glass and shells and lay them on my window sill

and let the Light in

Lady Slipper

To my patron saint

The one I have known

And yet just recently met

The way you are rooted in power

In a place of paradox

Resilient and delicate

Shy and pale yet flaunting and glorious

Arisen after 16 years buried in 

The deep acidic underground

Your survival 

Depending on an entanglement with fungus

To reach ahold and pry the seed in your heart open

Sending a channel of nutrients

Your conspiracy

One way out

Making it just so you get 

what you need from the bees


Bold postures of contradiction makes sense now

To have and to not yet have

To be and to hope to become

After many pilgrimages hoping to be gifted a visitation

A miraculous blessing

I lean in to listen

And slowly my legs root into the gap of paradox

And you whisper

Welcome home

A Yellow Door

a yellow door

we had leftover 

bathroom pain

my body sore from exhaustion

gutted from the insides

I  stare from safe

distances 

for 3 days or 48 years

busying myself with nobler tasks

it burns like the sun

Inside the closed tight glass jars

of the deeps are stored

what if 

I let go

completely, wholly, softly

and        open       it

the most noble task yet

And Yet

(Summer Grief)

Sorrow knocked at my gate

Summer losses felt heavier than Spring’s capacity

withered dried up dead flowers

unexpected  unprepared

“Are you ok?”  “How can you be?”

And Yet

deep in the underground a seed from

some forgotten year takes root

I planted Squash seeds 

and up springs vines of plump Cucumbers

the soft peach Day Lilies

never lose their faith

Echinacea and Shasta Daisy

hang on tight to their crowns

the Sedum, though I get bored of her

adorns the sun with force


Zinnias do not understand

the word failure

I welcome Sorrow in and offer her a seat

next to Lavender, Sage, and Thyme

there are no words whispered

just a nod as we feel the breeze go in and out of our sleeves

and look at every living thing

that once was dead 

but has come back to life