If you really want to cry for somebody,
why not cry for yourself?
Why not cry for all of us,
who are just passing through?
To care for all the children, without exception, as though each will someday be the one to show us all the way home: that is the Path.
think of my love
as a red glass button
hanging on a threadbare dress
Nothing stirs but the wind that rattles rain gutters and pulls on the hinges of blistered shutters. A pair of boots has been left out on a patio of gray flagstones, the mud still clinging to their heels like forgotten promises.
In the last moments before childbirth, a mother sees how similar her life and her child’s life will be.
The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.
All morning I groom you with tiny lovenames.
I am a cat, you are my kitten, cowlicked
Her dreams were artistic,
not caught up in soap operas.
She was creating a new breed
with crayons, storybooks and blind faith.