A New Constant

I am simply amazed by the tides of life; and the waves of change that wash over all of us. Recently I have been waltzing down memory lane, wondering how life would be different if...
I had to change that way of thinking because there is no future in yesterday. So I started wondering about life when:
I leave Arizona, for good
I am loved fully for who I am, not what I aim to become
I am the only one my nieces will confide in
I am all that my brothers have

These thoughts are all relative and wavy. Will I ever leave Arizona permanently, I cannot say. I am though, looking at opportunities outside this Grand Canyon State. My best friend is pregnant. I have no words for this news. She thinks that by telling me this beautiful news, it will bring me to her. For the first time I didn't argue with her; after all I am applying to grad schools in North Carolina.

That is another thing, I am applying to grad school. I made a decision of where I want to be in my life and what I can see myself doing. Ever since my first residency at Goddard I have wanted to teach there. With an MFA I can do just that. I can write and teach on a college level. This is what I want to do. I have been told that I could succeed in other areas, and I have often believed that I was not doing myself justice by pursuing these lucrative avenues. I see now, that I can have it all, by doing it my way. My achievements will be great, whether it is a short story that never sees the light of a printing press, a child, an impactful relationship with a student. These are all things that remind me that money is not all; and it certainly is not my driving force. Though, I do not live as if money was not important. This is an area that I aim to become more congruent in. I am proud of where I am. I have had some awesome experiences figuring out what it is that I am supposed to be doing. I am not sorry for taking many different paths. They were all the right path at the right time.

I now have two pugs and am reminded that all beings are unique. Little Lalli is certainly not the same as a Frodo. I wouldn't expect that. What amazes me is how unique they both are, and how uniquely they are both so obviously my dogs. I am happy with my life.

Consistently happy.

Rattlesnake Omens

I stopped traffic this morning. Not in the, "hey look at me" way... But in the "wow, there is a rattlesnake crossing the street in front of me." He was about 3 feet long and I had no intention of running this guy over. Sure he strikes, and is poisonous, but can't people be just as venemous? It seemed as if the people who had to wait behind me had a little bit of this streak in them and had they been given the chance to strike at me they proabably would have. I didn't think their inconvenience was worth the life of a wild animal.

I was driving into the Mayo Clinic when this little creature presented himself to me. I was intrigued, I called my mom. She has this book, Animal Speak, it tells of the omens that certain animals hold. Though I expected a sort of lashing omen; I received an eye opener. Snakes represent the sense of smell. This alone was enough to make me stop, literally stop in my tracks, and listen to the rest of the words my mom spoke. She continued that rattle snakes in particular represent healing, and more specifically rapid healing. I believe my mom and I got simultaneous chills. There were words of blossoming creativity, and matters that health issues would be easily resolved. I was wondering if I heard her right. I was remembering that if it hadn't been for me that rattlesnake would not have gotten to the other side of the road alive.

I am reminded that sometimes it is important to slow down. We hear this enough in regards to life, but do we pay heed. I think not nearly enough. I was able to have a little bit of hope restored this morning. It is amazing what life presents if we take a moment and remember that this is a life after all. And a life should be lived, moment by moment.

Homework #1

Ashtray
I used you.
Filled you with the dust of dreams,
my dreams,
her dreams.

I used you to use
me.
I was understood
when I tapped my insecurities
into your gaping mouth.

Never to be emptied
you filled up on empty moments,
lost time.
Notches carved into you,
adding to the lost minutes of my life.
Moments I willingly gave,
moments you will hastily takeaway.

A life of mine
I shared with a friend
over a casual smoke,
we paused
to resume
where we left off.

She and I
seperated
by life,
would connect easily over your hunger
miles apart.
You smiled your jack-o-lantern smile
at our secrets.

Damned we were
by your eagerness to be filled.
tales of laughter,
tales of tears,
were yours to bear witness.
I stopped seeing you
eight weeks
before she stopped seeing.

She stopped her life
and I wonder if she became
the ash we smoked
in your presence.

I miss you
like I miss her.

It burns and falls
away
only to be remembered
in those moments of insecurity.
Moments which I no longer hide
with a firestick and a container
to catch
the tears of my inhalations.

back to school

Can't hold on
strong
enough

strong hold
on
everything

lights of the night
usher me
in

back in class
back in time
writing my mind

poetry attempt
marks
insecurity

greater than
maximum
security

chained and down
buried far away
i break

free

A Heartfelt Anniversary

Today marks the one year anniversary of my grandfather, HB's, death. One year has gone by without silly arguments, trusted smiles, and fluttering eyelashes. His shadow is strong. I think of him daily. I remember some details of that day; but they do not linger like I thought they would. I thought when I would recall HB's passing I would automatically call up the images of the phone call informing me of his death, saying goodbye to his lifeless body, and yes, even what I was wearing. I can tell you that now when I think of his absence, that which resonates is the hollowness of a great life once lived. I no longer remember what I wore that day; and I do remember the phone call, and of course I remember seeing the body which at one point held a magnificent soul. Yet, those are not the memories that make me ache. What makes me ache is fear. I fear that I did not learn all I could have from him. I fear that my children will never know this man and that I will inadequately be able to teach them what he so eloquently taught me. Few people understood him. I think that was his way of weeding through people he didn't want to waste time on. He was never as careless with me as he could be with others. He was a tender grandfather with great love and solid loyalty. I was a very lucky granddaughter.

In ways I am comforted. Such as right now, it simply baffles me that it has been a year since this man was alive. I miss him but his absence does not seem as if it has been that long. Which to me means that in certain ways he is still living within me. I am lucky for that realization. I believe that my specificity has improved greatly. He taught me that word when I was 7. I would continue to grow up constantly being reminded how important it was for one to be specific. Not just for others sake, but one should never waste their words, breath and life saying things that have already been said.

He wrote letters to many people. At his memorial I met a man who had known HB for more than 50 years; only to have been in each other's presence a dozen times, and spoke on the phone even less. In an age where it seems impossible to think of how a relationship, a friendship could grow out of such parameters I am reminded of the simplicity and power that is found in a hand written letter. They corresponded weekly if not more; once receiving a letter from the other, each would immediately sit down and compose a letter and have it in the mail in time for the next pick up. I miss that sort of connectedness. I ache for it, like I ache for my grandfather. In mourning his loss; I have found myself more able to give way to my younger self, and put away parts of my childhood.

A dear friend of mine recently lost a grandparent and in words of comfort her sister told her that this kind of loss seems to be a rite of passage for those of us who were able to grow into adulthood with these octogenarians. What a gift, and what a loss, but again the greatness is what needs to be remembered. In the last weeks of his life my uncle was able to capture HB's songs, humor, and personality on a CD. I listen occasionally to remind myself of immortality, and what it means to be great; even if it is just in the eyes of a grandchild. When I remember my grandfather I am simultaneously reminded of my childhood. I could not ask for anything more sweet.