Letting in

“Fitting in is when you want to be a part of something. Belonging is when others want you.” (Brené Brown and very wise middle schoolers)

I want to be very precise here:
Integration, inclusion starts with the
majority, the powerful.
And the invitation is, always,
a spiritual posture
of grace and peace
toward each other
in our inextricable interconnectivity.
Then, we can meet with
humility and courage
and make magic and meaning
and make it matter.

three ladies

one is sitting at a laundromat

way past dusk in the dark

in the middle of the metropolis

with half a glass of white

waiting for the load to be done.

one is on her way to belly-dancing class,

stuck somewhere out there in traffic,

putting past her the death of a friend

while making sure her pup is safe

and not taking apart her apartment

while she’s gone.

the third of the bunch is on the couch

with half of the bottle gone,

gazing across the frozen fields

to motivate daring with dust

and distinguish king from kin.

these three are separate, it is true,

but they’re connected at once as well

by loss of much and learning of more

and friendship way beyond it all.

and so it pulses and pulls and pushes on

toward a common arc

of justice and joy and jubilee

and good news for once and for all.



our sink is splashed with plentiful colors,

our apartment inhabited by friends,

the streets pulsing with all the masses

and this town claimed by music, beer, and joys.

my love is first the hottest prince

of tulips and all the orange

and then a bear with beard and ears

and cuddly fur all around.

we walk, we drink, we dance, we talk;

it’s all a massive movement,

for them, for us, for everyone

to plunge and drown and splash.

it’s odd at first for this one here

to let go and let it be

and smash the window walls at last

and step out of the ivory cage.

but the muscle memory sets in,

alas! and saves her from the past

and pulls her into these beats and sounds

and expands her lungs and skins.

later, she walks home alone and calm

with the Dom in sight so bright,

and once she’s taken off bow tie and hat,

it’s as real as it’s ever been.

this time she’ll get it right for sure

and strive for participation

because as different as it looks each day:

the mission is urgent — and alive!

so she sleeps with the roaring all around

of cages and walls falling apart

freeing all of us from averageness

and positioning anew the spotlight.

and in the morning a new season shall begin

or the day after that, if it may

as long the as the dust stays shaken up

there’s hope and change and:


a really very splendid good day

it didn’t start this way and it didn’t end this way either,

this day and week and even month, but

everything beyond the bells and

responsibilities reminded me of the fact

that in the absence, there’s a presence.

the One who once gave all of it to us

and entrusts others and also me with other skills and

knowledge and anecdotal value wants

every one of us to glow and shine and float.

it is then on us to do with it what we must

and can and want and will to multiply

what we have been given and share

it among the lowest.

so I take my bags and travel under sunny, crisp, blue

skies afoot and humble and sobered

and supremely excited as well

just to grasp yet again and this time for good that

it’s massive and it’s vast and above all:

it’s all love.

Since 11/2/5

The day I’ll have done something

other than live and write poetry

for more than seven years,

I shall remain with it forever.



there’s an exhaustion that only ebbs, I know it.

and then there’s this: fatigue, finally, which flows.

the former comes from fraud committed against

one’s purpose, the latter from flowing in the midst of it.

and tonight, out there on the wooden dance floor,

with every old tune the DJ put on, with every offer,

with every smile and every new and fleeting bond,

with every turn and every twirl, with all the sweat,

with every sip of water and the shower pouring down,

it all came crashing back into the halls of this being

that seeks kin and kindred spirits in this time,

or perhaps simply the spirit

to make matters matter

once again and for good.

from one to

so this past weekend, a goldfish

jumped out of a glass bowl and into

the ocean. the more it was jumping,

the smaller the bowl seemed and the

larger and promising and sun-flooded

the vast blue appeared. while all of this

was unfolding on the screen before

me, the more those glass walls were moving

in on me too, and have been ever since.

so as the fish hiked up my tears flowed

down and the drama mounted to barely

standing it in the middle of a pew in

church. my neighbour handed me a tissue.

and then some time passed (as it always does)

and I slept some and worked some and called

such good friends and ran a bit and broke

my no alc-in-jan-vow and drank some red

wine. and then the other night a winter

thunder storm woke me at four in the morning and had

me sitting up straight and silent to simply listen to all

the extravaganzas happening all around me all

the time. and with the masses of snowflakes

zipping around very unladylike, my ocean rose

again higher and higher until it swept across

without apology or purpose. and there it was

again and didn’t end and had me

startled finally once more. and that’s what

it does: it comes and it goes and it ebbs and it

flows and sometimes I sink and sometimes I

swim and sometimes I sit and the beach and

just watch.

it’s a bit control and

all grace.