The Swamp Queen

Lichens, lattice, lace

They make space

In the rocks 

That hard place

Where the living can not grow

They cradle the water

She loves when we look

Seeing with loving eyes

Her gentle Swaying

Her angry torrents

Watch her

Her dance

Her rhythms

Play with words

See faces

The living god

All around

See

See

Go play

Plays mirror

Songs reverberate

Her songs

His words

Just play

Just stay

Moving

Dancing

Loving

Living

Keep living

Ancient rhythms to new beats

Timing

Your own

Make it

Make it real

Raw

Alive

Just stay alive

Stay in love

We are enough

Together

We are enough

Paper cuts

Lines run

Pixels blind

Attachments bind

Stick to it

Keep going

The world is perfect

As is

It just needs you

It just needs you to see

More

There is more

Father's father his father's father

So far

So close

Lessons

He taught me 

Tools he put in my hand

Curiosity, debate, building, talking, listening, a love of words.

He always loved a good story

A belly laugh

His belly laugh

He always laughed with his whole self

He taught me to shoot

To have patience

To have Curiosity

He taught me what a good man is

What a good man does

He always supported me

Taught me

Loved me

I miss you dad

Our talks

Headlines and pudding

Your love of books

Your love of people

Your stories

Your quick humor

I look at old pictures sometimes. My mom and dad when they were young. So in love. I think of the song by Dar Williams The Beauty of the Rain. "That's so un you. Feeling helpless as she asked for help for scared you'd have to change yourself." I listened at my mom's knee. Absorbed the lessons. I liked being useful. A sounding board for my mom. More a friend than a child. It made me feel important. Useful. I carried her resentments and her anger about how her life turned out. They tried their best with what they had. Tried to do better than they had. Even through the pain, chaos and madness there was a lot of love. There was joy. Connection. I always felt loved. Love and hurt are hard to hold together.  

I recently read Nobody's Girl. A difficult read. Or rather for me listen. Familiar patterns. So many of the things she described made a lot of sense. She talked about the poem Welcome to Holland. As someone parenting two children with special needs I felt that. Holland is beautiful. In it's way. It's not the trip you planned on. It's difficult because you didn't learn the language. Everyone else is talking about Italy. You try to be happy about your trip. Talk about the joys and struggles. Doubts creep in. Did I miss the sign for Italy?  

The news cycle. The victims. Won't acknowledge. Won't turn around. It hurts to watch the injustice of it. The names released of victims while predators are protected. Yet, I've seen the same. Here. In my own community. It's the system of it that makes me angry. The purity culture. The sexism that allows it to persist that I'm angry at anymore. Not individuals. I can forgive individuals. People are forgivable. There just needs to be accountability. Safeguards and actual change. That doesn't mean there is reconciliation especially when people deflect and play dumb. But understanding and forgiveness. There is room for the messy complication of life. What's happening is not surprising just disappointing. I want to think better of people.

Heartsick with the disappointments. Right now with my little girl kicking around in my belly. I feel protective. Protective of my joy. I feel the press of time. It makes me want to narrow everything down. To joy. Purpose. Honesty. There is no room or time for anything else. I want to be here. Present. Not half arguing with ghosts and phantoms. Real things. Tangible things. The love, and the pain. The small circle. The people I love. This day. This beautiful day.

Blessed be. 

Just be. 

to the messy here and now

Many thanks for a quiet morning