The Dance

The dance of drawing inward
and extending outward
I never get it right-
I think to myself this morning
with the fall nipping at my heels.
The leaves are starting to change

colors and float to the ground
just like they are supposed to
but I wonder
if they are a little sad
about their inevitable transformation,
if it is difficult to change

deep inside; to know it is time
to let down their fiery garb, and then-
to let it down.
I imagine that most of these tall towers
retreat into their hard insides,
wrap layers of pine, maple, red alder

around their green hearts,
and bunker down for the cold months to come
but maybe a few- the courageous, the foolish-
open their naked bodies wide, extend
their branches to all the fierce elements
and sway with the wind.

Subverting Natural Tendencies

I am not the kind of person who takes physical risks or pushes myself out of my comfort zone. I play safe. For example...
I never played team sports growing up.
I have never broken a bone.
I have never had stitches.
I have never gone skiing or snowboarding.
I can attribute my cautious tendencies to a multiplicity of factors including my pragmatic nature, protective mother, and grab bag of phobias/anxiety/insecurities.

All this to say that I am going to do something that is totally uncharacteristic of my behavior. I want to conquer something that I totally believe I cannot do: a sprint distance triathlon.
The Danskin Triathlon is August 19th & is an all ladies sprint distance triathlon. It is a 0.5 mi swim, 12 mi bike, and 3.1 mi run.
To many people, these distances seem reasonable and short, and in truth, that is an accurate view. A sprint triathlon is a feasible challenge for most able-bodied individuals, but it is more than the physical challenge for me- it is mental.

So I am going to give it a try.
While I don't really need to start "training" until mid-May (if I do a 13 week tiered program) I have to start talking about this triathlon with people to convince myself that it is a reality. I also have to fork over the money to fully commit myself to following through. In the mean time, I am working on increasing my general fitness level and activity and strengthening my sense of what I am able to achieve with my body.
Oh, this is a scary journey for me. I could use a cheerleader!

Moon Child

I love that my first word as a child was moon. It is the perfect word to mark my linguistic beginning, although I cannot explain exactly why. Sometimes a person simply knows deep inside what is true and what is not.

One warm Wailuku night I was held on the golden beach outside our home. I stretched my chubby little finger to the sky, like Adam reaching toward God, and named the floating white lantern. Moon: it was my first identifiable word other than the traditional gurgles of “mama” and “dada.” This fact alone feels like magic to me. It makes me feel set apart, like Moses in his basket of bulrushes.

I wonder what was happening in my infant brain when I gazed at the silver glow and watched its rotund reflection dance in roll of waves. Did I see two moons? Did I understand them to be one? The image I hold in my heart, even now, is one where my deepest self surrenders to the mystery and majesty of the way things are.

Mother and Child Sleeping

I sleep on the far edge of a large double bed
under the weight of a quilt I stitched together
to pass through the string of cold winter days and nights.
The pillows- six of them- take up more space
than the full female figure of my body.
I tuck my arms, legs, head inward
and curl up like a small dog, back to the wall,
not even hoping to be held.

I hold myself
like I am my own mother
like I am my own child.

Friday Night Behind Closed Doors

I’ve had too much dark chocolate, caramel, red wine.
I am flushed with sweets and blushing with the glitter and tassels
of Friday night burlesque, drag, accordion ballads of unrequited love.
Tonight I fanned the flames of flirtation with a man from Ohio
I used his large beard and computer coding jokes to skirt
the awkwardness of not having anyone
beside me and always being early.

Someone tried to take my jacket. I let him wear it.
Someone asked if I was drinking moonshine in my honey jar.
I wasn’t, but laughed and tossed my hair and hooted
with the rest of them and at the end of the evening
one friendly acquaintance asked, when is my debut?

Next Friday night I will mount the stage
with metal card table and red velvet bag of tricks
I will adjust the tension---
pull out my scraps
and sew them a quilt.

This is what I do behind closed doors.

What we really fear is falling,
not the fall; we fear the candle burning,
not the flame. It is a troubling honesty
to hear “I want you,” but to know
the truth remains.

It is not all bad; even the rain
is sometimes our witness. We love
the scar; we kiss her on that scar.
How beautiful to make no sense-

To be as senseless as the heart, as prayer, as God.
Tonight the candle burns quickly,
the blue-orange flame is tall. I tuck the darkness in
and do everything I can
to remain empty.

I ask God, “What promises do you hold
in the night?” God replies,
“Come, see me naked;
my heartbreak is a thousand things.”

The Night is Long (Three Parts)

Part I

I think of your body
in the night
and hold the open space
beside me.
I yearn to be stitched
into the soft flesh
of a lover, held in arms
like the great expanse
of an open field.

I long for the shared rhythm-
inhale and exhale of your chest,
long golden hair
in my fingers-
dishes and mouth and arched
backs pushing up against the kitchen sink.
I sigh-
all night
long

Part II

I could sleep
in your arms
whereas I was never able before-
Before- always restless,
always waking up in the dark tangled
in sheets, needing to untwine
and extract myself, exasperated-
pleading with the pink morning to slide back
between the crack of curtains

but with you
I could sleep deeply
wrapped in your arms, our bodies solid-
anchored- the center held still
for a moment-
neither living in the past, nor the future.
Fixed in the present- in your arms
all night
long

Part III

I cut off my hair
in grief
for you
to reinvent myself as a bird,
to adorn myself as a bird,
to be free and admired and all the things
I do not want to be-
I cut off my hair
in grief for you

and now I feel it
in the night
and wish I could comb it out-
comb out the long tangled waves
over and over again
with a peacock jeweled comb
in front of grandmother’s mirror
and grow out my hair in the night- long-
long-