Poetry

Settling

"Rubble Inukshuk" © maegon02, 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Rubble Inukshuk” © Maegan Pauls, 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Sink into stillness.

Cancel appointments with doctors
wanting to discuss diagnoses and
possible plans of treatment.

Taper off medication and
put supplements back
in the freezer.

Plot out a schedule to serve me for the
next six months with
minimal modification.

Hands on my husband’s hips I ask him,
“Will you please just tell me if
what we’re doing isn’t working?
Can it please be safe for me to assume,
unless I hear otherwise,
things are running smoothly?”

Always try to improve.
To change.
Plan a different way to do
everything long before I have proof the
current approach busted.

Every tendon, muscle, nerve, and neuron
from toes to temples is
begging for a break.
“Please. Just let me settle.”

Tread water.
Breathe.
We do not need to push forward constantly.

Those safe places and
longed-for ease perhaps only present themselves
when we let ourselves go and
just be.

Autobiography

Night swimming in Puget Sound

"Morning Fog on a Puget Sound Beach" © Ingrid Taylarg, 2010. CC BY 2.0.
Morning Fog on a Puget Sound Beach” © Ingrid Taylar, 2010. CC BY 2.0.
After meeting with Alyssa, I decided to take a walk through an unfamiliar neighborhood. Inspected the yards of strangers, admired well-tended gardens and the last remaining Christmas decorations. I soaked up the quiet. The kind of thing you never realize you’re missing until you stumble on it again. How easy it was to hear my own footsteps, my own breath.

The scent of a new fence swept across a lawn. Cedar. That smell is forever tied to the summer my family made baidarkas in a friend’s workshop. I was too young to handle power tools, to build something, so I spent my time running around outside. I’d slide down the muddy embankment to the nearby creek. Then I’d roll my pant legs, wade up out into the water, and get all my clothing soaking wet. Bend over and hang my hands in the water, stay motionless as my fingers and toes grew numb, hoping to catch a fish, a tadpole, anything. Continue reading →

Poetry

War Anthems

"lantern" © Jenny Downing, 2009. CC BY 2.0.
lantern” © Jenny Downing, 2009. CC BY 2.0.
Preparing for war.

We never were fighters and we don’t want to go,
but there are some things you don’t get a choice in.

Winter will crash over and crush us
no matter how well we’ve prepared.

Spring will sweep us up
in a gust of wind, scattering our last reserves
of hope and energy like ashes. Continue reading →