Let's Run To

Let’s run to

Because we’re not running away
From anything.
We are running to something.
We are not leaving
we’re going
Coming
Arriving
In route anyways.

Let’s not run away.
Bring the past with us
Let’s throw it into the open future
and
run to it.

I’ll bring mine
And you bring yours
Wasn’t that the point?

Let’s stop speaking of it
Sacrifice.
We get more
That is
Than we give.

So let’s run to.

Because we can.
and because we should
for no other reason in the world
other than ours.
Lets run to it.

Throw open the doors
Don’t leave a note

Run
Skip
Swim
FLY
Anything
Together
Someway
We’ll run to.


Forever.
Into colored suns
And silver stars
We don’t leave the world
Simply
We create it

Ready when you are

Let’s run to.

Stars

It’s raining. In my rage I look up at the empty dark sky. The night stars are falling and they land on my face. I feel angry. Why is it that everyone has gone, everything has changed, yet here I am, stuck? I feel an irritation towards the sky. I want to rip every star from it’s nook and place it in a new constellation that seems to fit the amount of change that has happened. It is fair or safe that there is something so constant as the stars? It’s false hope. When was there ever actual stability in a wish hosted by a shooting star? Yet night after night I continue to look up. There’s the big dipper, Orion’s belt, the seven sisters. Still, holy, and real. But I feel lied to, slightly bewitched. But then, always, the whisper that follows the light, “Everything will be alright.” And somehow, it always is.

She Belonged to the Summer

She always awoke to find the songs of the birds upon her. To see her was to look into a golden sky. A sky where when the night came you found stars falling all around you. To touch her was to taste honey. To lie next to her was to commune with the breeze.

She belonged to the summer.

One longed to stand or bathe in her garden. To listen to her speak was to be touched by pearl moonlight. A light of pale silver reminding you to breathe. To dream with her was catch shade from the almond tree leaves. To share in her secrets was to be covered in clovers.

She belonged to the summer.

And as long as you´re with her you belong to it too. To her body and her mind. To be covered by the sun in her hair, in its golden madness. To explore and discover. To be warm.

For when the leaves plummet and the trees reveal their teeth; when virtue falls from the sky in cold anger- that is when you will wake up alone, left with a whisper. For you knew she couldn't last there.

She always belonged to the summer.

Peace

Content to spend my days

toes dancing on the surface of the water

savoring the juice discovered in a peach

Tall grass communing with the breeze.

Listening to God's afternoon hymn

an applause of flowers

A testimony of colors

Freedom

Silence

I bring it all with reverent hands

and I carry it with me as I leave.

So that at least I know

whenever I close my eyes

that some part of my heaven

                 lies waiting

right there.

    Where I left it.

Education

Education.

Perhaps this word brings to mind school houses, apples, and rulers. But for me I see conversations around kitchen tables, starry nights, paintings, and laughter- all ways that I have been educated.

What about teachers?

Can you see the social figure standing in the front of the room? Chalk in hand and grade book near by? I think of someone else. I see my parents; best friends and enemies- the grocery store cashier, an eight-year-old child. And Walt Disney.

In the pursuit of furthering education we get caught up in symbols and pieces of paper. But what if education wasn’t measured by a letter? What if it was measured by your ability to live? Your capacity to see and hear- to observe? Your application of love? Suppose we were only tested on our willingness to change. What if it depended on passion and gratitude?

Can somebody really tell me what qualifies me as “educated?” To sing or to multiply or divide. To laugh or to cry. If I’m feeling I learn. If I’m in pain I progress. You don’t just find this in socialized institutions. It’s also found in tearful sunsets, burnt cookies, gusts of wind, and beliefs.

He Stood Apart

He stood apart from the crowd with his hands behind his back; a white rose pined to his dark suit jacket. He silently cried as he looked at the casket draped in an American flag.  The feathery snow whispered down to the fresh dirt.

I wanted then to be a part of him.

To leave the world and go inside.

Because. As I stood there I saw life and death in front of me. And purpose. I saw that too. And I wanted it.

{Written Feb. 2010}

            When I first saw him that morning I smelt the cologne. He’s never worn it before. I guess it is reserved only for special occasions. His grandpa’s tie was around his neck, held to his shirt with a ruby pin that was as red as a tomato.

I felt it then just as I had for a while, although still new.

A feeling of fierce need and devotion.

A longing to know and to become love. I was pleased yet insecure that this rare feeling was not mine alone, but that it was shared and given back.

            We walked out into thick snowfall. I saw my life in the snowflakes. Each one was so different and unique and beautiful but when all put together the result was white and blank. And so it is with my future. So many moments, unlike any that this world has or will ever see again but as I add them up the future is only white and blank. Still undetermined. No resolution.

I never wanted him to say good-bye and shut my door.

I never wanted to go home, even if it was only for a few days.

I only wanted to stay and try. To be apart of him. To feel for one uncomplicated moment what it feels to love.

Because. As I drove away I knew that fears would encroach and reality would water the flames. It is now that I have to grasp the simple emotion. From this spot I begin to grow. It’s here I put my roots. This feeling. The foundation to nurture all that could come. No matter how complicated it may get, I can always trace the trunk back down here.

To love.

"I Love You"

“I love you.”

He first said the words so carelessly and irresponsibly.

Or so I thought.

Silence.

I laid there. Unable to say them back.

Until one day,

“I love you”

Came out of my mouth.

To him.

I said it to him. And about him. I meant it but the words were green like eating pre-ripe fruit.

A green banana.

A bright orange persimmon.

A white raspberry

I was scared.

And I didn’t know how to admit those words.

Didn’t know if I could live up to them.

But he continued.

His daily sonnet.

            Confession.

His Patience.

And every time I felt it. Absorbed his words.

I hungered for them.

And he gave me life.

As time went on, as I said what I needed, I felt the taste change.

My words ripened.

“I love you.”

They caramelize in my mouth. Went down sweet.

Sugar.

Cream.

                        Heaven

                        is so close to those words.