when i was little

i remember sitting on the hard wood floor and

feeling like i was in a forest. i never thought

i would be living bill to bill, rent to rent, worried

about how to keep the hard wood over our heads.

i think i just thought it was all there–everything

we needed–for the taking, the sharing, the giving, the

living. it’s hard to live–really live–while worried about

your next deadline, next payment, next claim on your time.

i sit here writing about it instead of just living it. when i was

little i would go into my canopy worlds and escape time, escape

physicality, escape that palpable feeling of not belonging–

and would somehow find a soft space, between the knowing

waves and wise particles floating in the air and landing on the warm

wood, where everything felt right, connected, slowed way down

to perfection. i think this is where we are meant to be, back in the

forest of our child-mind, loving everything, living out the colors

and shapes and rhythms of play. no one had to tell us where to go,

or how to find it: our beautiful bliss was ever at our fingertips.

 

i think i like a poem (that’s not for reading on a cell phone)

i think i like a poem

because it makes me slow

way down and be in the moment

and really take in the words, thoughts,

sounds. i think i like a poem that makes me

smile, cry, shake, blush, swing from the rafters.

i think i like a poem that’s the first poem in a new

house, fresh word paint spilling out onto the walls, floors,

ceilings. i think i like a poem that opens me up like a dream-

catcher wheel, spinning around and around until my deepest guts

are revealed and my heart is at the mercy of the meaning police vehicle

rolling through at over 44 mph, i think; i love; a poem; that makes no sense

to anyone but me--and maybe to those three who know who they are and who

keep me on my toes through the lovely pain-staking pains of staking these claims.