New Magic

I’ve always been a Hufflepuff.

Quiet. Just. Observant.

Patient. Kind. And loyal.

A hard worker and a servant.

I’ve always been the badger type.

Modest. Fair. Of the earth.

Green-thumbed. Nice. Curious.

But then, like magic, a rebirth!

Goodbye, “Me Without Boundaries.”

Silent. Shy. Hesitant.

So scared. Weak. Looking down.

Accommodating, reticent.

Hello, “New Me, Daring and Bold.”

I’m brave. Strong. No martyr.

I try. Risk. I fail well.

Confident, my chin held higher.

There’s still a Hufflepuff in me.

But look! Fire! Hear that roar?

There’s smoke. Red. New magic.

For now, I am a Gryffindor.

A Conversation with my heart, part 2

Back in February 2023—on Valentine’s Day, actually—a friend encouraged me to have a conversation with my heart and to give it a name. I tried to name my heart after a Care Bear and that didn’t go well. That was the day I discovered that my heart is FURIOUS with me.

“A Conversation With My Heart, Part 1” emerged from that one-sided talk.

Today I knocked on her door again. I asked her this question:

What else do you have to say?

This is what she said:

I see how you see me:

A baby bird lying in dirt

staring sightless up at the nest—

hollow bones rotting,

worms traveling through them—

subway cars through a tunnel.

You think I’m shattered—

trillions of microscopic pieces

scattered,

dripping blood.

Unsalvageable.

Here’s what you get wrong:

at no point

were my bones ever

breakable.

So, stop attending my funeral.

The casket’s empty.

Stop mourning.

No grave was ever dug.

I am invincible

made of invincible

covered in invincible.

Do you really think

some random asshole

who ghosted you on the first date

is powerful enough to break something

mere minutes younger than the oldest soul?

Purpose

The faceless sun doesn’t need me

but it shined me awake today.

The eyeless moon doesn’t see me

but it still lights my way.

The rain only knows how to fall,

that’s all it has to say.

But the flowers are so grateful,

and so is the blue jay.

And maybe no one will read these words…

But I’ll write them, anyway.

Maybe Our Souls Are Stars

Maybe our souls are stars—

gas where nuclei skirmish,

enormous shining spheres

on which our children wish.

Maybe our souls are kites—

hovering in the wind

a sweet bird on a leash

a blue jay’s favorite friend.

Maybe our souls are jazz—

music for ears and dance,

trombone, trumpet, sax,

red rhythms for romance.

Maybe our souls are words—

sounds, image, and meaning,

made up of lines and shapes,

breathing.

Maybe our souls are whispers—

voices in a vast,

all noise, lullabies,

heard at last.

Maybe our souls are stars.

Decorate the Moon

I had some fun with words at the library.

Head here to see the image: bit.ly/44tXQ02

What If God Breathes?

What if God “breathes” like trees?

Carbon dioxide in,

out the oxygen sails.

Do we breathe His exhales?

What if God breathes through gills?

Like sharks – like the great white!

They have to move to breathe.

Does God swim day and night?

Is God like the spider

that’s called the diving bell?

It hoards bubbles of air

to its chest, in its hair.

What if God breathes through skin?

Like the salamander,

the newt, the worm, the leech,

and the sea cucumber.

Does God breathe through His legs?

Not unlike the sea spider?

Does He use a snorkel?

Like mosquitos in water?

I think God breathes like… We.

Mosquito, and the newt,

spider, shark, and monkey.

The lava and the coral,

the earth, sky, and the sea.

The laughter and the smiles,

the flowers, stones, and trees.

The music and silence,

The seed, light, and puppy.

The words, and their absence,

our hearts, souls, all that’s We.

Perhaps God even breathes

just like you and me.

A Conversation With My Heart, Part 1

Some context:

Back in February - on Valentine’s Day - a friend encouraged me to have a conversation with my heart and give it a name. I decided to name her after my favorite Care Bear (I expected her to be Care Bear-ish) and then I opened myself to a conversation. The conversation - short and one-sided and LOUD (my heart is ANGRY) - went something like this:

You try to name me

but you don’t know me,

let alone own me!

I’m not your pet!

No leash could fit around me.

I am millions of years older than you.

I named myself

before you existed.

I am the top layer

of a set of nesting dolls

made of your every ancestor’s heart.

I am a thousand generations of garden wisdom,

of map-less direction,

of wind-voice,

and water-song.

How could you ever name

something made of

WILD?