For what I'm worth

I used to think my worth was in my ability to answer

at least half of the Jeopardy questions correctly,

in my fake blond hair with manufactured curls,

and my ability to break into dance at any given moment.

I believed worth and charm were inextricable,

and that I needed to work hard to maintain both.

Then came the clouds, the pain, the fear,

the inability to curl and dance and answer --

and a new understanding of worth.

It does not lie in my ability to capture attention,

in my humor, my talent, or my perfectly lined lips,

my worth does not lie in any part of my perfection,

(because perfection has a price, it does not give one.)

Not just a pretty piece, but the wounded whole

these grey hairs, this pierced heart,

these bowed legs, this mercurial brain;

My worth is not in me -- it is me.

Approachable Divinity

Amazing how the soft reflection

of colors on the waxed wood floor

from the bright blazing strand

of LED lights encircling the spruce

creates a universe beneath my feet

tiny worlds warmer than their source

I admire the beauty not as a facsimile

but for its own unique wonder

like orange orbs of street lamps cast

across the black waters of the Saugatuck

or the sweet silvery moon above

all the more lovely because it is not sun

and I may gaze on it as long as I like

In the same way I rejoice
to look upon your face

faithfully refracting the light of love

tempering that blinding source of all life

into a flash of approachable divinity

In praise of fog

Weightless drops delight in their ethereal state

dancing they swirl past the porch light

floating free instead of dripping down

a breath scatters the damp flecks of cloud

and passing headlights make a shadowbox

illuminating the yard as the house floats

above ground and under water

oh how the brume on a warm winter night

can turn a somnolent New England town

into a mighty and mysterious Atlantis

explorers need only step out onto the stoop

to watch the watery world drift by

Noel from the New Haven Line

A flurry of glittering white lights

frost the many Main Streets

with candy cane street lamps

and Christmas trees in bars

making the neon beer signs

seem somehow festive

while the tree branches wrapped

in glowing orbs wink cheerfully

at the weary commuters

"you're almost home now"

as twinkling blue waves

adorn rambling fences

and electric icicles dangle

from sternly pitched eves

like so many alpine peaks

creating a holiday tapestry

so alive and bright with joy

that even the jealous moon approves

Reduced to stumps

It is when they shed their leaves

that you notice the brokenness of the trees

how well they hid their cracks

in the warm abundance of summer

but winter has laid bare their wounds

and it is too late now to bind them

they must be chopped down

lest they fall on their own

crushing all that is near

only when they are reduced to stumps

will they be stable and sturdy again

Rebirth

The drug is gone now

It did not go with a whimper

But with a wild scream

It tried to take me with it

Howling as it was expelled

My skin beneath its nails

Leaving my nerves exposed

My senses raw and tender

Like a baby, and just as angry

My soul is birthed in sweet agony

Each sensation an assault and a triumph

Ringing out I am alive

I am alive!

And so I welcome you pain

Because to be dull is to be dead

But these tears - they are life

Stonemason

Show me where this awkward stone

fits into the perfect wall

I have worked so hard to build

Show me how to use its heaviness

in a way that won't cause the edifice

to crumble into a pile of ruin

Show me where to chip away

the stubborn blockages

so that it can be a useful thing

Show me how, when the rough rocks

are placed amongst the smooth,

it strengthens the whole