Archives for the month of: July, 2008

I do insist you share this with the artsy farts in your life…  😀


she has wings

It’s quite possible I love you more
than there are words
–out of this overly articulated head of mine–
to form in my mouth

There is only this feeling
–light, yet deep and heavy with an ancient power
–sparkling (the sun bouncing off all the shiny bits that surround us)

And I will spend my days with you
and practice how to be this love

**off to be “second-shooter” at a friend’s wedding today
**going to wear polka dots or a Betty Rubble party dress (replete with giggle)
**every cell in my body smiles when I ride my bicycle

big ball of human love mush


Over the course of today, a rather ordinary Thursday by most accounts, my city has become another. It happens every year for a couple weeks. And over the course of my life I have had all manner of feelings about this. It has been a tortured relationship at times. When I was young I wanted nothing more than to leave this one horse town and set up shop somewhere fabulous and unique. Someplace where interesting people hailed from, instead of somewhere the few unlucky enough to fuel their first yelp with Chinook wind leave as soon as they have enough gas money to cross the border. Not that I thought back then that I was interesting enough to be one of the people who left, I just didn’t think this place was interesting enough to stay.

So I left.

A lot.

Flinging myself onto airplanes and into rental SUVs and moving trucks. But I kept coming back too – sometimes seething, sometimes feeling I couldn’t arrive fast enough. There is much to be said about one’s relationship with a place. I have felt at home in a lot of cities and countries, but this is home. Home, regardless of whether I wander.

And oh, how it has changed in my lifetime! I’ve become one of those people in a conversation that starts sentences with “when I was a kid….” Somehow, I feel a small responsibility to tell the tale. Yes, we party for 10 days straight every summer, each summer harder than the last. Yes, we all seem to have, admittedly or not, a pair of Wranglers or Ropers or a dusty Stetson tucked away in a closet or a box that we dig out annually. Yes, a week of near-mandatory denim wearing is a privilege one can look forward to all year long. And yes, we may always be the small town dressed up in shiny big city clothes, but somehow it has become charming to me — this strange inability to let go of our past entirely. Surely the wild west wasn’t as much fun as we make it seem, but we keep the legend alive, and then tucking it away with the good china until it’s time once again for the big parade.

I’m not quite sure when my soft spot for this place eclipsed my urge to get far away fast, but it has and I feel smitten. A lover tracing the same body over and over and finding ever more depth I want to touch, explore.

I like that this will never be a cool place to live, that we will never have the best night life or best sports teams or even garner much attention beyond a random economic blip. I like that we will be forever tucked up under the mountains and up alongside fields that go on for decades into the horizon and that everywhere you look, there is only ever the enormous expanse of sky that swallows you up and keeps you safe. And I love that in early July every year, on some otherwise random Thursday, the people, the place, and the very spirit here changes to some new entity that is even a bit more backwater than before. But most of all, I love that this oddity is somehow home.

it does seem that way

This is my womb
though it bears no children for you
but for ideas and love

Of these my thighs
are juicy and dripping
Borne of them the trembling
magnificence of your desire

I beseech you; make me a
mother of this life
Let me raise and teach and nurture
Let my devotion to you serve your will

For I praise the spark you place
in my chest each morning
as I return, humbled
to the underworld
of your glorious design