THE TABLE

My great grandmother,

who spoke to leprechauns

as a girl in County Clare, Ireland,

whose voice was a song,

stood over me as I sat

beneath the dining room table

pushing a red fire truck

round and round

the table’s legs.

We made a game of

looking at each other,

while laughing uncontrollably.

I was four, she was ninety-six.

This memory is all I have of her.

The older I become I realize,

every pursuit, everything

I chase with a passion,

is an attempt

to return to this table.

THE SECRET SHARER*

I am reading a book

you gave me.

I am holding in my hands

the selfsame pages

you once held in yours.

And I pause

in the places

you once paused

with your pen.

The marks you made,

to phrases, passages,

whole paragraphs,

have me feeling

strangely,

that it is your soul

I am seeing:

that a marriage of things

wished for

was never quite consummated

in the ways imagined,

which makes me

your secret sharer.

*Inspired by David Whyte’s, The Three Marriages: 
Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship

NO PETS

They are fickle,

so fondle them with care.

They are not pets.

They are thoughts, devious

creatures that can turn

on you, just like that.

With too much attention, 
and the wrong kind,

they can master you

in an instant, and have you

on a short leash before

anyone can say the word, heel.

ACCEPTANCE

A lizard

on a rock,

still and basking

in the sun…

This is how

I want to be

with acceptance.