hug the trees awake
feel the sap rising within
outside, no jacket
March Haiu: Ares Winds
march like a song, sad sigh
sun beats from the cloudless sky
dry sinus, cold hands
February 16 Haiku: Garden Corridor Near Copley at Dartmouth Street
clouds obscure the sun
al fresco lunch in winter
dirty snow, green grass
Two February Haiku: Sunlight, Startled Deer
afternoon sun slants
shows the marsh in a new light
witch hazel, hemlock
three deer in the trees
bound away with startled tails
tiny wild island
January 25 Haiku: Thin Snow, Alone at Last, Black Crow
blessed solitude
first set of tracks on the trail
corbins cry above
The Move: After
Wednesday 12/21/2011
Solstice. The Longest Night. The shortest day. We wake at 6:00 a.m. or thereabouts, with the windows outside still black. Day dawns rainy, chilly, but not freezing cold; it’s in the 50s on the solstice. Still, we know that January and February — the real bitch-winter months — have yet to come.
I’m hurrying to get through these pages because M has already left and the movers are coming to his house at 9:00 a.m. They were late, so very, very late, when they came to my house on the 17th. Five hours late. By the time they were done unloading the truck, it was 10:00 p.m. And I tipped them anyway.
Stop for a moment and be still. Know that the Goddess is with me always, the door as close at my own heart. Invite Her to walk with me today, to travel with me.
And with the invitation comes gratitude for M, my life’s partner, my heart’s desire. The first man in this lifetime I’ve trusted enough to intertwine with like this. Gentle soul, sensitive and real — and still a man, unaware of his privilege and its effect on me, as unaware as I must have seemed to Quick, as a white woman partnered with a Puerto Rican.
Echoes of Quick, echoes of April, all the myriad mistakes I made in the past and learned from — and learned from. All the bumps and stumbles in the dark we made in our marriages, because lesbians have always known what the state denies: that marriage begins when you rent the U-Haul and put two sets of china in the same cabinet, not when you rent a church and put two sets of relatives in the same function hall.
All the bittersweet lessons I learned from my lovers, and all the savory friendships and sisterhoods I’ve been blessed with since.
Anaphase and I, two bright minds burning in the darkness. Lucy’s gentle soul, pregnant and fulfilled, endless source of love and compassion. Two things I’d never expected to have in this lifetime: straight women as my good, good friends.
The Goddess in all her guises, made manifest around me.
What joy and passion to be alive, in this place, at this time. Oh brave new world, that has such wonders in it!
January Haiku: Woods Under Snow
deep snow on the trail
spreads the ground under dark bark
winter. silence. here.
Tight-Drawn and Fragile
PL5 written on the wrapped-green house,
half-built, half-lot,
down from the street from Boston’s last
working
farm
“Please,” utters the spirit, tight-drawn and fragile
as you motor from one encounter to the next.
January looms in the blue-and-white sky,
chills your fingers as you dig gloves from pockets
Unaccustomed to their new location,
all your possessions cry for mercy, comfort,
gratitude
time a gratuity
and your check so small,
it won’t cover the bills
January 6 Haiku
boardwalk through the marsh
our feet disturb the thin snow
moss and lichen bloom
Solstice Haiku
sun shines on first snow
bright from the dramatic sky
winter blue, pine green
Garden of Words 