Daily Archives: May 8, 2015

How To Survive

You ask me
how I move in this
darkening world. You ask,
how do I pull through,
get by, survive?

I move as sandstorm: 
darkness rising 
in full light;

swiftly, bearing
both seen and unseen grit; 

enveloping homes, work;  in fact,
swallowing all journeys
and destinations. I pull through

while afire: consumed
by red.  Eaten by red.
Red in windows, eyes,
on the tongue. Get by as flood:

poured out, soaking in,  
flowing as though 
a wound had been torn 
in the silky, silver gut
of All.

Survival: 
I’ve had to be
so present
with survival

that I’ve had no time
to measure 
the past of it,
or to think about 
the future of it.
If I could, I would tell you.
I would tell everyone,
as it seems
that only some know.

If I knew
and if I could share
what I knew,
perhaps I could
save some of them.

I survive, I think,
mostly by realizing
from second to second that, 

until this moment at least,
I actually have.  


The Grandmothers

Around the bed
where I lie
and try to sleep

stand generations
of grandmothers,
soft gray owls speaking to me
in all my native tongues at once,
and I understand none of it.  

My shame at being unable
to take what they offer
grows a snow storm,
a white-out inside me.

How dangerous my dreams are —
so dangerous I strive to convince myself
that they are nothing, that the fantastic
does not exist,

that the grandmother owls
crowding close,
hooting softly,
calling out to me,

are wind in the trees
and no more.