An Ordinary Day

  A poem for Flood Wall Street and the People’s Climate March September 21-22, 2014   Today I’m staying in my pajamas because I can. I’m curling back in bed with my computer and checking Facebook, not one time, not two times, but eighteen times while my children are at school. I might bake cookies.…

Personal Archives II, or Poetry

I have a new love. It’s called poetry.  I have an old love. It’s called poetry, too. They are finally meeting one another, in the space of my mind. While cleaning out my computer several months ago, I found a rich text file that held just one poem, with no attribution or signature.  I honestly…

One Year Since Éire

Yesterday my parents and I accompanied my daughter’s class on a field trip to San Francisco. The school rented a small tourist bus for the trip. As I climbed aboard and took my seat alone by the window (my daughter wanted to sit with her friends in the very, very back, and my parents wanted…

Bush Paints

Right now, at this very moment, I am about to type words that I never thought I would put out into the world. Here I go. I feel a great big wave of compassion for George W. Bush. Yesterday in the New York Times I read about an exhibition of portraits by W. that is…

Ocean Story

This weekend a good friend and I spent the day together at the coast. As we walked along the marshy trail to the beach, the air was warm and breezy, the sky shifting from silver-cast to blue and back again, the earth dark and pleasingly mucky, and the herbs and grasses and native flowers all…

Today I Walked on the Thirsty Earth. So Did You.

Today I walked on the thirsty Earth, and tipped my tongue to the skies. My ancestors tasted the sweetness of rain. Over the past few weeks, I have felt the human energy gathering, gathering, around the idea of scarcity, or disaster. Over the past few days, I have felt the sigh of watery relief rising…

Lurching Towards Blossoming

The other day I ran into a friend with whom I worked in Occupy Santa Rosa.  Towards the end of my time with the Occupy movement, she (probably unbeknownst to her) became much more than a friend; she became a “Wild Woman” meeting me in the dark woods, offering me another chance to make my…