30 Things I’ve Pulled from the Fire of Recent-Days
Despite Boston, the unfathomable, unnecessary.
The forsythia fired-up their yellow torches. Driving home to them. Driving home.
Poems in our pockets. Getting students to carry them and hand them out.
Directing my first graduate student. Her work: words as constellations, a planetarium for which she punched in the points for every star. A handmade book of poems.
Teaching at an art college.
Finding out that a good friend, at long last, (one of my favorite people in all of the world,) is getting his book published.
Despite my fiance’s bad bloodwork, another diagnosis.
The reservoir still visible from my bedroom glass doors. Last ribbons of sunrise floating up. Knowing that when that view goes, it will because Spring dressed all of the trees up in another pretty vista.
Despite the death of a childhood friend, my godmother’s son. So much wrong in dying that way, that young.
Primrose: magenta with yellow suns at the core of them. purple, too. The unexpected jewel-box cluster appearing where I had forgotten I had planted them.
Coming home to five deer in our yard at dusk. The yard was all blue-hour which with the bright yellow forsythia made a Van Gogh palette of the evening. That would have been enough, but then quietly, each deer began to take shape against the grass.
There is always another vista.
Having a minor bridal meltdown and in a group letter to a group of family and friends, asking for help.
One friend walked me through the menu selection/invitation process. A task, that for some reason, had been utterly beyond me.
One friend had a handyman at my house the next day. The loathsome dropped ceiling in the kitchen and the cat door project—two dreaded and paralyzing tasks will soon be underway.
More than anything that they did, each reminded me what joy these plans represent. I am a long way from twenty-five. It is a first marriage for both of us. In this long, messy meander. we found our way to finding our way.
Pencil cactus. Their pencil-true diameter and thorn-less silhouettes. Like delicate peach/green corals with the slenderest fingers pointing to the sky.
Despite the difficult transitional year at a job that I love.
Sestina Fey, Hold Me Closer Tony Danza, The Robert Frosting on our April Poetry month cake. A day of guerilla poetry and necessary laughter with students that daily remind me how lucky I am to do what I do. Some days, April is the coolest month.
My three year old nephew on the phone talking about my niece “Miranda’s so cute! She is a baby, I don’t know why!”
Clementine: a petite cat with strange frosty fur black on top and white beneath. The wild wonder of her pumpkin-eyes. She is my first female cat since my favorite cat, Gladys’s sudden death and whose passing, also marked the last link to any of my previous lives before Ohio.
Trader Joe’s Almond Butter
Despite the loss of my cherished office. Goodbye wonky-shaped, windowless, small space with my newly-painted periwinkle blue wall.
Happening upon Clementine basking in the sunroom, in Gladys’s very chair and feeling no minor twinge, but only a rush of warmth and gratitude that tells me some healing has taken place.
There’s a shabby green boat we found in Tipp City late last fall. It’s time now to take it for a spin.
Chocolate Velvet Coffee
A sizeable stanza each day, so far, in April towards my annual poetry month challenge. Knowing how hard-won that time to write has been. I am writing this at four thirty a.m.
Torrential early morning rain, pulling the down comforter back up from its folded place at the foot of the bed and with boy and cat, snuggling-in.
Blood orange sorbet.
My wedding dress arrived in yesterday’s mail. I already have to take it in.