Time Slows Down

I was thinking about 
how fast time goes, 
this day, 
a life. 


Feels like just last night that Mom had me and my brothers in the tub, red plastic soldier's bayonet poking into my chubby thigh. Dog sitting on the bath mat watching us. My mother's hand running over my wet hair.


Time.


Mom's been gone ten years.
Aunt Nip eight.
Dad will be 85 on the Fifth of July. 
Jesse's coming up on thirty.


What?


It was just yesterday when Mrs. Stewart, my second grade teacher, made home-made butter with our class. We spread it on saltine crackers. 


My mouth waters just thinking about it.


Tonight Claire and I  played a funny game involving Disney movies where we give each other a clue and hit the timer ~


tick tock tick tock tick tock


and you need to answer before the clock runs out. 


I give easy clues, Bear with a honey pot...


During the game I kept thinking, 


It's late and I still need to blog, 


when Claire said, "I wrote a poem, Mom."


I said, "Will you read it?"


Time


You can't see it
You can't feel it
But it's there
It will always be there
Time makes it hard
to stop and stare
Time makes it hard 
to even care.
Time goes fast, like
the human mind.
But if you try time
slows down. 
You close your eyes, 
hear every sound
and breathe.


by Claire Collins

Believe It Or Not

Claire came home, 
went up to her room, 
and wrote a poem. 


Trust me, this is not a daily thing. Most days, she heads straight for the tv and the big green chair, hoping to catch a cooking show or if I'm out of the room, Housewives of Orange County. 


Why?she asks, when I say change the channel.
It's interesting, Mom, she tells me. Great characters.


My kid knows I'm a sucker for great characters.


But today, the notebook won out. 


She came into the kitchen.
"I wrote a poem,"she said, "Do you want to hear it?"
"Absolutely,"I said,"But I'm curious?"
"About?"
"Did you just decide to come home and write a poem, or had you been thinking about it?"
"I was thinking about another one while I was in school but it didn't turn out, so I wrote this."
"That's pretty neat. Okay, let's hear it."


War by Claire Collins


War is ugly
War is bad
It's starting to make
me very mad
I'm getting sick
of all the pain
I must stop the
tears from falling like
rain. We need to escape
all the guns and the bombs
All this hate, all those lies
No one lives, everyone dies
God, please cure
the bad and the mean.
This is war. Believe it or not.


On this Flag Day...


Remembering our service people far away from home and all people everywhere who are in the midst of the bad and the mean.

Make Much Of Your Time

...kiss the earth & be joyful
& make much of your time
& be kindly to everyone,
even to those who do not deserve it.


~ from Notice by Steve Kowit

Break Into Blossom

...Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom


- from A Blessing by James Wright

The Tiniest House

Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in stupas, not in Indian shrine rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding around your own neck, nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you look for me, you will see me instantly -
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.
Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.


- Kabir

Married To Amazement

.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life/ I was a bride married to amazement/ I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.


from When Death Comes by Mary Oliver 

Holding Nothing Back

Walking into the bedroom tonight, my eye was immediately drawn to a book called The Exquisite Risk by Mark Nepo. It was sticking out from under a few other books in a stack by my desk.

The title alone is a good place to hang out and ponder. The word, risk, reminds me of a therapist I saw probably twenty years ago, after my first marriage ended in divorce. I was a shell-shocked thirty year old who had managed to get out of a rough marriage in one piece with my daughter by my side.

During one session, she said, "You don't take many risks, do you?" And I remember thinking, Are you kidding me, lady? I stopped seeing her after that.

I like to open a book and read what shows up. I opened The Exquisite Risk and landed on page 54 and found this poem called Holding Nothing Back. And, like any good writing, it made me think. And feel.

Some days I look back over my life and it feels like it's been one huge risk. And other days, I'm still poised on the edge of my nest waiting to leap. Often, I can't seem to decipher where I'm at all. And maybe it doesn't really matter.

Holding Nothing Back

My purpose

at last,

to hold

nothing

back.

My goal:

to live

a thousand years,

not in succession,

but in every

breath.

~ Mark Nepo

Being Here On Earth

Back in January, I spent four days as artist-in-residence at a small, rural elementary school across the river in New Jersey. I met with every class in the school, over two hundred kids, grades K - 6. During our time together we worked on creating a school-wide community poem using the opening line, What matters to me...

Here are some gems from the Frelinghuysen Elementary School Community Poem:

What matters to me...

Fascinating things like family, reptiles and amphibians

My alive and dead chickens ( oh my! )

Flying

My family

No more global warming (1st grader)

My enormously gigantic dog, Tonto

Peace in the world

My horses, and Phil and Eric

Happiness

My favorite animal, a zebra

Writing

Me

Watching my dog lay on top of me

My Dad's wicked car

Chocolate

WII Fit Plus

Books

Eggs

My great teachers and friends

My godfather who lives in Washington, DC.

And this from a sweet 5th grader...

Being here on earth.

Tumble Any Second

At around nine o'clock tonight, Dad and I took a short stroll down my street. His idea. There aren't any streetlights in my neighborhood so it's very dark. I thought, a river of ink. At times it was hard to distinguish between the road and bushes in my neighbor's yard.

Dad and I walked to the cul-de-sac, passed the Doolittle's house, and circled back. We chatted about the stars, the darkness, how his legs seem weak. At one point I grabbed his hand because he was so wobbly. Lately it seems he might fall right over, tumble, especially if a gust of wind kicks up. Thankfully no wind tonight, just soft, still air.

Walking with my father, I found myself alternating between my nine year old girl-self and my all grown up woman-self. My chest is full up with joy, tears, mystery, this being alive.

This is the last stanza of a beautiful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye. I probably should give you the whole poem because it's so good. I'll do that another time. But for now, I love this last part.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.

Know you could tumble any second.

Then decide what to do with your time.

..from The Art of Disappearing

[a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye]