THE CONFIRMATION

When the gauze was lifted
from the nondescript wound

above my mother’s lip
the surgeon 

had been working on 
all day, the imprint

left there

in no way 

 

resembled the shape 

of the open sore

it came from. Instead

it looked every bit 

like a tiny heart,

which was confirmation 

enough for me,

that every wound

was really a gift 

and a blessing in disguise.

ORANGE UMBRELLAS*

Dead Portuguese poets

and orange umbrellas...

were lost to me

when the rains came.

The tour left without me

because I was too busy 

not paying attention

to the experience

I came for. 

A sodden map in hand,

drenched to the bone,

I cried until I laughed

and heard a voice say:

There’s nothing

 wrong with you. 

You are human.

Welcome to humanity.

And then remembered,

it was Pessoa who said: 

Ships among tempests 

and not a one 

has sailed to a port 

that has not known 

its share of suffering.

*Inspired by Susan Cain's, Bitter-sweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole

 

UNDER A FULL MOON

It is said that master violin maker, 

Stradivari, centuries ago, on each full moon, 

went to the Dolomites, to a magic forest, 

to lay his head against the spruce trunks. 

To listen.

This was how he found the wood 

for his famous instruments.

I long for my truth to be heard 

this way, under a full moon – or even

during a downpour.

I long for a listening that leans 

into me, that hears the deep tones 

of my elusive song, moon or no moon.

I long for my music to find its way into

the soul of a Beloved, like Rumi's did.

This partnership will be the instrument 

that brings me back home and into 

the deep grain of the self.

NECTARINES 

It stood there 

in my backyard 

among the other trees

so unassuming,

aloof nearly,

its secret safely 

cloaked in the silence 

of its green leaves,

like a dream

in sleep.

For a year it kept 

its secret silent 

and unseen,

and then yesterday

it let one of its hidden

treasures, that had grown,

it seemed, overnight,

fall to the ground:

a nectarine. At first glance 

I thought it was an apple

from the my neighbor’s yard.

But all that changed

when I knelt down 

and put my hand on it

and felt its softness, its ripeness.

This was no forbidden fruit.

On one knee 

I looked up 

to see among my

tree’s branches

more orbed ornaments, 

the sensual contours 

and colors 

in full bloom,

dangling there, 

waiting to be plucked

as if to say, 

Surprise, surprise.

This is who I am.

No more secrets.

I promise. Humans 

do this too: We take

our sweet time

before pulling back 

the curtain 

of the self,

before saying 

Here I am.

I am ready for you

to see me,

I am ready to trust,

to share my fruit

with you. Safety 

is a garden

whose plenty 

can’t be rushed.