Can’t Swim

Draw me to the river –
Draw me to your shore, 
Where the water laps
The water snakes and fruit.
I can’t swim – so draw 
Me deeper.

This water is high, 
When I open my mouth,
This water becomes like words there.
This voice of water says –

Many places can be
A garden. Many doors 
Can be gates.

Many trees can become 
Swords and pruning shears – knowing
Where to cut.

I can’t swim, draw me deeper.

I say –

Why do you start out calmly? 
Why do you flow in peace, 
To draw some near before 
They’ve drunk their rage?
Why does the shore with no
Changed banks
Spark fear?

I can’t swim, draw me deeper –
Draw me deeper, up from earth,
Draw me from great depths within 
This mantle stone –

Draw me by your mantle,
Flowing like a river shore. 
You say –
I can’t swim – only overflow
These banks. Draw me deeper.

How To Keep Your Head

How to keep your head – the question’s
Already been asked or at least, answered 
Or at least, addressed by 
Rudyard Kipling which is
A good address to have in English Lit –

Well, I don’t know the first thing about it. 

I always thought it closer to Ms. Dickinson’s
“I’m nobody – who are you?” in fact – 
Because being nobody is better than 
Being royalty when it comes to
Keeping your head and not
Collecting others. Mr. Alias Dodgson
Carrolled on about the Queen of Hearts 
Which made for good fiction even 
If everyone thinks 
She’s the Red Queen – but
Hearts aren’t really red and anyway
It’s said that people lose hearts 
All the time
And still lead perfectly fine
Lives, but heads are
One apiece and 
Judging biographically
I’m not so sure I 
Trust poetic 
Insight
For advice 
On keeping
Mine.

High Noon Ghost

Nor do I know
What ending stirs. Sometimes
A lizard, mid-morning bound,
Will dart to the center of some broad path
And seize, panting, amid the motioned drift –

Not yet seen until breathing.

All around
Are others – each, a lizard
In midst of all other ways
Of lizards – 

Some breathe, and some
Are seen. All are caught
By sun, halfway-bridged 
Twixt dawn and high noon’s
Certainty, a time the Greeks saw ghosts. 

I stand, and, breathing,
Lizards see me
Caught 

Until high noon. 

Used Books

The shell hunter’s handbook and
The spirit of animal healing:
Shotgun shooting.

Eff this! Meditation
Counting the eons
Star finder!

And

The handy book of knots, 
Flash cards of the human body –
Eden burning
Wanted: one
Sexy night.

Impossible people. 

Texas skies.

Weapons of 
Math destruction.

(With the patience of dust-old words 
At the end of every world, these
Will still, all, be here, waiting – 
Here, when here is gone –
Saying: if only

We had been 

Used – )

Marginalia for Canopic Jars

Part way through anything, now, you
Become still as the depths of springs, placed too high.

You
Are like Alexandria; you are smoke, wrapped 

In words caught off-page. They are caught still, rising

Their author didn’t whisper 
When the copyist came around, and the copyist forgot
Canopic jars or maybe ink – 

That’s why the lungs are missing. 

That’s why my heart is missing. I saw
The alligator, Ammit, on your behalf:

It’s true, she cries. Her tears are flame, but
All day long she still writes
New parts
From notes nobody took

On bodies. Nobody takes enough notes, they find (later)
To reconstruct –

(Alive again, they make 
Do with marginalia) –

Now, your lungs, my heart 
Is gone, my heart is gilt
My heart is marginalia and ink or
Alligator tears or
Canopic jars of salt and this time –
(The copyist drew hearts that the author didn’t see – )

My heart is missing it’s 
Missing
It’s 

Smoke, pouring up from Ammit at Alexandria
Like a spring placed too 
Dry 
To breathe in rain again.

Some things are best handled obliquely. They are the topics that make like a cat avoiding scritches; they are always just out of reach. They are never in the same location as any words that match their facts. They do not match up to any words because their facts have yet to match up to reality, which is to say, they have not yet happened. Any discussion before they have happened might hasten the happening. Any discussion after the fact will probably be pointless. Thus, a cavern forms. 

Well, that is dramatic. It is a small space, really; a small emptiness. It exists because things exist around it and nothing exists within it; that is all. It is more a sort of hole, but sealed at both ends; a jar. A canopic jar. It holds things that are, obviously, not inside because everything is perfectly fine and everyone really does have all their organs. In excellent condition. That’s what embalming does, you know. 

If a loved one had problems with their lungs, to the point where each conversation became more space for coughing than words, that is perhaps the sort of thing I would make a canopic jar of a metaphor for. When time came to pack away the knowledge of progressively shorter breath, I would seal it away beside the main experience of time with that person, as best I could. I would seal their lungs away, to prevent further mishap.

The intent of such acts is to sidestep time. Such a sealing cannot be maintained forever. The fate of all canopic jars is to be found, opened, or otherwise disturbed from stasis; their contents will be turned into questions. These questions will be sketched into the margins of a life, everything from life expectancy to personal beliefs, and – as with all such questions – any answers found will not be true to the reality of the pre-posthumous. Nothing can be true to one person’s life except the living thereof, start to finish. 

I think both are difficult. The start is certainly difficult, from what I’ve read. I am a person who feels faint at anything with the prefix “gyn-” so I really can’t say more on the subject of births. I talk about it only, in fact, to delay talking about the other portion of things, the opposite side of life from a birth. There’s not much to say there either, except in preparation for that of someone else I find myself missing small things rather than the sum of all that will go missing. 

Ironically for my purposes, the ancient Egyptians didn’t place the heart in its own canopic jar. It was left with the soul to be weighed against truth and (failing that) eaten by a crocodile-lion-hippo guardian named Ammit – a presumably confused, and confusing, lady. Which is grief, basically. In a nutshell, or crocodile hide. But at this time when acts of grieving feel completely untrue and pointless, all I can offer is a crocodile-snack of a heart. That’s the best exchange for the emptiness I now find, drawing notes in each margin of my life.

*Takeaway: it’s not denial if there’s a metaphor! To which my dad brain points out: De Nile is a river in Egypt. See, now it all makes sense. (…) Anyhow, thanks for reading!

Lady of Liquid & Silver & Salt

Lady of liquid and silver and salt, 
Lady of mist and flame –
Strike in my heart your burning bush, 
Devour my soul again. 

Lady of risings and leavings and flux,
Lady who moves most unseen –
Unmake my certainties into dust, 
Awaken my dust with your wings. 

Lady who changes all things as She will,
Lady whose peace is to bend, 
Unmoor my sight from promises firm,
Your holy uncertainty tend.

On Self Respect

Self respect is an act of defiance.

It’s not supposed to be. It’s popularly portrayed as an internal glow, this happy warm energy that irradiates everything around you with the recognition that yes, you are a living creature, give you space to exist. 

But few people get space for free.  The world can be a claustrophobic place. The walls of other peoples’ needs, desires, expectations, and fears can press in too tightly, over and over again. They don’t cease and desist just because there’s a living, breathing person caught in the way. 

Under these circumstances, there are some people who know how to find the cracks in those walls. They are able to find the small forgotten spaces, beyond the press of others’ existence. They are able to climb on the roof to enjoy a sunset smoke, as it were, kicking their heels against the shingles while gazing down at their in-laws’ perfectly waxed car and their neighbor’s passive aggressive hedge trimming activities. They do it proudly, in full view of the neighborhood, and they do it with the full knowledge that they will be a repeat offender. 

Like most acts of defiance, you can’t really do self respect “just once.” It’s a gateway to all sorts of subversive activities. You may start saying “no” more often, and “yes” when you really mean it. You may spend more time pursuing activities that make you aware of your soul. You may become less susceptible to manipulation and browbeating and your own complicity in sterilizing your existence. 

Luckily, you don’t need to procure suspicious materials in order to make your very own homemade self respect. You don’t need large quantities of tylenol or lime, you don’t need a spare bathtub to hold a batch. You don’t need to watch Breaking Bad like it’s Martha Stewart, although if you do that’s your business. 

I won’t include exact amounts. This isn’t The Anarchist’s Cookbook, and besides – trial and error is a traditional part of the process. Your exact needs may vary. However, here is a basic ingredients list for your very own starter batch of self respect. 

Know your values. This is a lot less highbrow than it sounds. Simply know what you can’t face yourself after – the things that trigger your urge to hide from yourself. Watch for that little internal cringe and twitch of the curtains between you and the world. 

Be aware. Know what it feels like something or someone has dented or violated one of these values. Whether it’s the world pressing in or your own soft spots, know your pressure points and the ways they give in. 

Practice honesty. When one of your values hasn’t performed well under pressure, you may try to hide the feeling from yourself with any number of activities or excuses. These are distractions. Your life is too important to give away to distraction when you could face the truth and grow. If you aren’t honest, you’ll never know when it’s time to give yourself some compassion.

Be contrary. A touch of contrarianism is the crucial touch – that secret ingredient that makes the above Sunday school class of virtues sit up and take notes. It’s salt, it’s Tabasco, it’s fish sauce and fireworks. You can’t craft enduring self respect without a certain subversive tendency to question what you’re told and repurpose what you’re given. 

Of course, there’s one last part of the process. You have to be willing to ask yourself: “Why am I worth self respect?” Until you find that answer, you won’t be willing to defend your space once you’ve made it.  

You’ll have to ponder that question on your own. I can just about manage my own efforts at crafting self respect, what with the most recent explosions and resulting cleanup and singed eyebrows, etc. etc. But my current answer to that question looks something like this.

My existence holds a piece of the universe, a piece that wouldn’t otherwise exist. That piece isn’t going to see expression any other way. 

Like most homegrown attempts at “profound” “truth”, there’s a catch: I don’t know what that piece is. I’m playing this game blind, without any indication of my own value, though sometimes I catch a glimpse of others’ value. It’s like cheating at poker, except my own hand’s cards are printed in invisible ink. 

Because I don’t know my own value, and I don’t know what part of me may be unique, I don’t get to quit defending the integrity of the whole. Or rather, I can – everyone has that choice, multiple times a day. So at a certain point, because I can’t see my own value but can sometimes see others’ value – I have to conclude that defending my self respect is necessary because it enables me to see others clearly from a distance of my own making. 

This translates to: life needs me. The pieces I can’t see, need me. Even the people who crowd and hem me in – need me. They just don’t understand enough to see it. They need my resistance to their demands, and they need me as a separate, unique part of a system they can’t see. So when I say self respect is an act of defiance – I guess I mean altruism. Self respect is an act of altruism…towards yourself and others. 

I don’t know, I still think defiance sounds like a lot more fun. We’ll stick with that for now. And if you have any good recipes for your own version of self respect… by all means please share in the comments. I’ve got plenty of time while I wait for the next batch to finish cooking.

Two Body Problem

The third point in space
Between two bodies bound
Against trajectory:
Call it equilibrium, 
Or call it empty.

You may call it mystery
Divine, or of Science,
Math or logic clear –
Barycenter, or 
Buried center, a 
Two-body problem

As most things are.

You may call it what you like,
Language major
Or minor fair –
More or less. 
I do not care –

I shall call it
Love. 

“Barycenter” is our name for the point about which two (or more) bodies, bound together by gravitational pull, orbit. Mathematically speaking, it’s the bodies’ center of mass. Metaphysically speaking, it can be anything we want, because it’s not a physical point – it’s a dynamical system, a function of how the bodies interact over time. Like most explanations by poets who get hold of a physics textbook, this one is surely self-serving and far off from the factual base. Yet in a world crafted by definitions, I find my need for a philosophy of dynamics rather than constants runs deep. Sometimes it is good just to acknowledge that there is indeed a space between two bodies that is not replicated by any other space between any other set of two (or more) bodies. And sometimes that is enough – call it what you will.

Walk Out In Stillness

Blessed are those
Who walk out in stillness – 
Who walk out
In the calm of the day
The early sun
Or afternoon’s scorched hum,
In the byways and alleys,
Shadows and lanes
Or the tracks’ farther lonely side.

Blessed are those
Who find or lose
What they seek –
They will keep looking
To find, or find again.

They will walk out in stillness,
They will step towards
The moon, the sun, and the empty sky
Stretched across stars unseen –
They will stretch towards 
Stars unseen.

Blessed are those
Who listen – 
Blessed are those
Whose breath is held,
Whose being is held,
Whose breath is leashed
By things unsaid, 
As an echo of all that is said
In stillness.

They Say If You Want Something Done

They say if you want something done, you must do it yourself. This is not true. 

For starters, there are many things best accomplished by getting someone else to do them. Plumbing, for example, or electrical work – the type of home emergency for which you are unsure whether a professional or an exorcist is more urgently needed. (Don’t wait. Call both.)

Planning one’s own birthday party, too, is an activity which may not yield the best results when delegated – yet the secret, slightly smug satisfaction that comes from others trying (without too much hinting or suggestive tactics) lends the outcome a piquancy achieved through no other means. (It may not even matter if the cake is not the requested flavor, or the dog ate half of it, or the dog baked it, or the cat got involved halfway through and added tuna: the point is, they tried.)

Still. There are some things which, whether or not you want them done, must be done by…you. 

The first step is of course to see if they must be done now. It is remarkable how many tasks are described as “time-sensitive.” This is just administrative linguistic overreach. Technically speaking, everything is time-sensitive, i.e. sensitive to time. Mountains, oceans, and glaciers are all time-sensitive, but no one goes around asking for copies in triplicate, black not blue ink. 

(Actually it is likely that mountains, oceans, and glaciers are becoming more time-sensitive.  That’s the problem with humanity, it has to go around inflicting its love of deadlines on everyone else, like the more tactless brand of mortician.)

If the above dodge fails, you can always tweak the basic premise in the following way.

If you want something done, there is a simple solution. You must find something else more important to do.

Something urgent, something dreadful: deep dark apologies or tax returns or another deadline – any other deadline, although if it is firm enough to have two extra names and advertise in the “Legal Services” section of the phone book, so much the better. Your chances of accomplishing anything else just skyrocketed. 

The key is mis-directing your own better judgment, i.e. natural tendency to avoid things. By carefully and completely avoiding the larger issue – with all the thoroughness and attention to detail you can muster – you increase your likelihood of accidentally finishing the comparatively-smaller issue(s). Rather like velociraptors vs. Tyrannosaurus Rex in Jurassic Park. 

I am always extremely surprised by the amount of things that mysteriously disappear off my to-do list around, say, tax filing time. It’s like a reverse missing persons list, except instead of bodies (living or otherwise) I keep finding a trail of no laundry, no dirty dishes, and no remaining meal prep. It gets to the point I’m afraid to check the mailbox for fear of seeing all the neatly stamped-and-addressed envelopes waiting to go out, etc. 

If you are still following the logic here, you must have noticed one more final item of importance. It is crucial to plan time in which to burn through lesser tasks – the original “something you wanted done” – before the actual deadline of the task you are using as a switch-and-bait comes up. 

This is why, if you are going to use this method, you must start early. I now start my tax filing preparations in July just so I can get all the other items moved off of my to-do list before the following April. This also, effectively, means I can accept no more new tasks for the year past July 1st. Why? Because then I’d never get anything done.