• Faith,  Life,  Poems,  Poetry

    KonMari-ing Trauma

    Thank you for the wrecking, the undoing, tears and rips And the way that you committed to your most savage whims Thanks so much for craving the unmarked skin on me And leaving me with scars to keep and throb in memory Thank you for the lessons in betrayal of myself And teaching me to grovel, beg, forget to ask for help I appreciate your tolerance as I clung to remnants of my worth Your patience til the shame was set and you knew it would endure Thank you for the questions I never thought to ask And the gentle way you coated them with answers made of wax Thank…

  • Cancer,  death,  Grief,  Life,  Love

    On Time and Presence

    “If you’re still listening, if this still means anything, please, help me to be present.” I sat on my bed, suitcase flayed open beside me as a familiar harbinger. We’d just seen the scan that showed a new and inoperable growth. Mom’s brain cancer was spreading. The clock ticked loud and cruel. I wanted to squeeze time like a lemon to get all the juice out. I wanted to stretch it into eternity like taffy, keep rolling it and rolling it to make more because she was running out and I had barely found my stride. And here I was, stumbling, racing toward the edge of a cliff after the…

  • Cancer,  death,  Grief,  Life

    Open Handed Hope

    No alarm told me to creep downstairs while everyone slept and beat the Easter morning candy rush. But my dog was on my mind and I needed to get eyes on him. If he’d died, I thought, I would want to get him outside before the kids came down. I’d want to wait until after they had their morning fun before I told them. I’d want a minute to cry with him before sharing the grief with my children. I rehearsed it, just in case (which I do a lot, but the cases rarely unfold according to my script). He’d been sick the night before. The kind of sick I’ve…

  • Faith,  God,  Life,  Love

    The Skeptic and the Mystic

    I guess it’s how I came here: carrying the questions of my ancestors and the mystic trust, too. Which of them were lawyers? Which of them shamans? Because I can escape neither. My earliest memories are of totalizing faith. Utter confidence in God’s existence, God’s love, God’s particular devotion, God’s humor, God’s sadness. I did not separate the world into what is God’s and what is not, it was all God’s. He made it. He loved it. He was never far from any of it. Now that I know me a little more, it seems inevitable that I would wring this faith through inquiry. Sometimes I wonder what took me…