it’s spring, so

it’s spring, so

thanks to Firefly Creative Writing for two weeks of bringing me to the page at their morning coffee sessions

 

it’s spring, so

I want to touch nature

I want to walk

on aged pathways

head through fields

earth untrodden

places I’ve never seen

high in the mountains

down in the meadows

it’s spring, so

I want to be

out venturing in

the world

standing below the

cherry trees

in Trinity Bellwoods

walking among the

people of the city

watching the pugs

in their t-shirts

greet one another

at each end of

their perfect

pugness

it’s spring, so

I want to be

taking off

the wooden eye covers

of the little house

in the woods

raking pine needles

I abandoned

in my October rush

to begin a 19-day

bedside vigil

it’s spring, so

I want to be airing

out rooms

wiping down cupboards

to be filled

with staples

I want to fold

fresh linens and

place them in neat piles

on the shelves

fill the wood box

that imperfectly

perfect structure

I made with D.K.

it’s spring, so

I want to pull on

my wetsuit over

my winterized body

take my paddleboard

onto the river

and pretend it’s

July

it’s spring, so

I want to go to

the fruit stand

and buy too many

pots of flowers

that will burn in

the late August sun

I want to walk in

a half-marathon

that torturous

indicator

that age has not

sidelined me yet

it’s spring, so

I want to sit

at a table just

inside the door of

my favourite café

get too hot

when the sun

streams in

I want to

turn my face

in the direction

of children discovering

a trail of ants

I want to hear

wonder and

curiosity

laughter and gossip

it’s spring, so

I want to

see and touch and

feel

all the things

that make me

alive

 

the moments I have witnessed

the moments I have witnessed

This morning’s writing session from Firefly Creative Writing began with a reading of Eagle Poem by Joy Harjo. Chris, who led the writing session, read the poem and asked us to find a word, or a phrase, or something else that struck a chord with this and do some free writing.

For me, the line swept our hearts clean with sacred wings stood out and so I went with that.

the moments I have witnessed

the moment of life

I have witnessed

a moment where

life swept our hearts

clean

the journey was complete

for a suspended moment

there was you

your beginnings

no sound

the suspension between

when you were there

and when you were

here

life swept our hearts

clean

your presence central

in the chaos

breathe in

the moment of life

I have witnessed.

 

the moment of community

I have witnessed

a moment where

love swept our hearts

clean

the emptiness was complete

for a suspended moment

there was only two

just a girl

and a boy

no sound

the suspension between

when you were hidden

and when you were

seen

love swept our hearts

clean

your presence embraced

the forest

breathe in

the moment of community

I have witnessed.

 

the moment of death

I have witnessed

a moment where

life swept our hearts

clean

the emptiness was complete

for a suspended moment

there was nothing

no feeling

no sorrow

no sound

the suspension between

when you were here

and when you were

there

death swept our hearts

clean

your presence evaporated

in the silence

breathe in

the moment of death

I have witnessed.

the kind of hugs

the kind of hugs

There’s the kind of hugs that a toddler gives, the little humans who barrel down the hall at the sound of the front door opening. The hugs that hit you full force, mid-leg; you cannot move or reciprocate but only take in all that day-long, pent-up love, because as quickly as it started the squeezer hug is over and the little human toddles away, satiated.

There’s the kind of hugs that happen at airports, the goodbye ones that you try not to fill with anxiety or sorrow, the ones you try to imprint with every ounce of your love, enough, at least, until ‘next time’. There’s the kind that are ‘hello’, ‘welcome home’, ‘my gosh I have missed you, don’t ever go away again’. There’s the ones where you share the vulnerability of being apart.

There’s the kind of hug that says ‘I do’ even when there’s no piece of paper from City Hall or a church or any witnesses, the kind that binds two hearts forever. There’s the kind that says, ‘I’m sorry, I thought we’d make it, I loved our time together, goodbye.’

There’s the kind of hug that says everything when words fail you. The ones that are offered to try to alleviate unbearable sadness, grief, loss. There’s the kind of hug you give someone, so they know they’re not alone in life, in struggles, in death.

There’s the hugs you squandered when you thought they came in an endless supply. The ones from someone who is now out of reach.

(thank you to Firefly Creative Writing for the morning coffee session prompts this week and Shari and Mike Photograph in Vancouver for the photo of a sibling pre-wedding hug)

These days I’m being carried by words

These days I’m being carried by words

These days I’m being carried by words. Words of those leading guided meditations, the words that remind me to breathe, and focus on the spaces in between. The words of instruction about how to squat and roll over and rest. Words of my favourite yoga instructor telling me to keep seeking comfort in movement and be gentle with myself. The words of young moms finding their way in this uncharted territory of pandemic and new motherhood. The words of parents trying to be all things to all people.

These days I’m being carried by words. Words of people suffering loss who cannot be with others to mitigate their grief. Words of front-line workers, the tentative ‘hello’ of a grocery clerk who has been berated and can relax when they see that we see them. Words of nurses who are carrying the burden of being the last person to touch and comfort too many people. Words of doctors begging people to stay home. Words of people full of sorrow and anger over losses contrasted against the ignorance of others who feel hard done by in a world of restrictions and believe their anger and resistance belongs on top of others’ lives.

These days I’m being carried by words. Words of my son who asks how are you doing, are you okay, do you need a hug, this casserole is amazing, thank you. Words of my husband wondering how my writing is going, do you want a salad/dinner/hug, how was your walk, what can I do, thank you for keeping us safe. Words of my daughter from the other side of the country, checking in, trying to make sense of things, sharing words of sunshine that she finds in each day.

These days I’m being carried by words. Words that make it on to the page. Words of my classmates who encouraged me. Words of my instructor who told me to keep going, that I got my words right. Words of writers putting their stories and their imaginations out into the world. Words that help to relieve the sorrow, to recognize the grief, to touch the part of people that distance has created. Words of hope, sadness, life.

These days I’m being carried by words. Words of health officials and scientists telling me how I can help, what effect I can have, and what they hope will be next. Words of politicians who have surprised me, sounding a little more leader, a little less divisive. Words of journalists questioning political truths which are false, numbers which are fixed, history which is fictionalized.

These days I’m being carried by words.

the world offers itself

the world offers itself

inspired by Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese

 

the world offers itself to your imagination

do not despair

do not question

motives

intent

look to the world

beyond your sorrows

find the beauty

alert your senses

to the wind

to the flowers

the geese, the owl

alert

for it is

nature

that calls to your heart

the snow on the bridge

the crackling ice below

be mindful

 

the world

offers your imagination

tomorrow

do not let the pull

of trauma

all that screwed up

senseless pain

distract you

 

the world offers itself

to your imagination

walk barefoot in

the park or

through the river

feel the sharp edges

of rocks

and know

you have the strength

to sink into the pain

take the next step

 

sing in the forest

tell your happiness

to the leaves and

the branches

 

tell the mama bird

thank you

for her patience

as she sat

waiting for her babies

give her a nightly

round of applause

 

remember to bend down

and touch the flower

feel the softness that

inspired that artist

to take up a brush

and show us the feeling

understand the edge

of the petal

learn the curve

of the leaf

know the perfection

of nature

 

the world offers itself

to your writer’s imagination

lay down in the sand

it provides solace

in its warmth

its roughness

reminds you that

you’re alive

 

close your eyes and

know the waves

they come from away

to make you think of

nothing and everything

 

the world offers you

a chance

to stop hiding in

your burlap bag

come forth

into the grass

and the trees

and the sand

 

the world offers itself to

your heart

to the child who needs healing

and the mother who failed

and the one who only

thought she did

 

the salve of a sunset

to soothe your wounds

embrace healing from sunshine

and water

and eagles

 

the world offers itself to

your imagination

what delights are held

in its caves

and narrow pathways

to somewhere

your ideas

are buried beneath

the concrete and steel

the oil rigs and railways

and if you find them

you will

also be found

 

the world offers itself

to your imagination

touch it

hear it

see it

smell it

taste it

what joy does it bring you

what fears does it remind

you to hide from

what moments in time

become unfrozen

when the sun touches

down on your heart

when the silence of the

morning is broken

and you

no longer run to somewhere

to do something

urgent

stop

 

let the world

offer itself to you