Monthly Archives: April 2022


Today I went to the farmers market in Waco, TX. it’s been a while, so pretend I have magically appeared here, with trials and adventures behind me. I’ll share that tale when I’m ready. If I’m ready.

There was a flower stand, with these little jars of poppies. I don’t normally buy cut flowers, as I feel to bring them home is to witness their death, and death is sacred, and I’m never sure I’m up for that contract.

But today…. They called to me, and I gave in. I’m up for that sacred contract, to witness their glory and their deaths. It calls to mind so many women, this contract… my mother, my grandmother, even my fathers mother. But this part, calls to mind women still in glory, alive and experiencing the world, and my heart is so full of love for them, for their gentle touches on my life, for their being present in the now.

Mary Oliver 

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?