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Knowing

People eventually know — as I know — this flaxen gift of life will slip. The spindly legs of a sick child or the bony, veined hands of old women remind us of breaking. But also that living moves when Gaia speaks. On a Sunday morning, fresh blooms go on an old grave where new tears fall. But the grief dwindles hours later against the slope of a partner’s body. Fingers arched, someone peels a layer off. And the citrus hangs like summer air. But it is not the fruit, or the granite tombstone, or the baby’s footprint, that prove…

Thanks Giving

What does thankfulness really mean? Thankful we are alive? Thankful we can fish in the streams and pick fruit off vines? Thankful for a man’s hand at the small of your back? Thankful for a woman’s yearning eyes? Thankful when we can stop breathing in memories from the leaving trains? Thankful for a reverberating heart…

Does a Cup Mean More than Our Unraveling Humanity?

I’m pretty sure that the Shakespearean metaphor that all the world’s a stage, and each of us actors, couldn’t be more meaningful than it is today. And I am convinced that the stage and theater represent a bizarre comedy-drama. This week, we learned that some conservative Christians are peeved with Starbucks over a cup. Let…