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“Of course the universe is full of deep magic, but I think most miracles can be traced back to someone's profound and quiet kindness.”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
“I wrote a pep talk recently to myself on a bar napkin: no matter which road you take, it will be both glorious and unbearable. Every road is lonely. Every road, holy. The only error is not walking forth.
Yesterday, a friend in California, when giving me directions, told me I could take the trail toward the tall pines or turn left and find a field of poppies, growing gold and savage at the edge of the valley.
When I asked which to choose, she simply shrugged and said: either way, it’s all heaven.”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
Yesterday, a friend in California, when giving me directions, told me I could take the trail toward the tall pines or turn left and find a field of poppies, growing gold and savage at the edge of the valley.
When I asked which to choose, she simply shrugged and said: either way, it’s all heaven.”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
“I am finally a woman willing to feed herself - light, bread, joy.
Sometimes, you don't know that you're starving until you've had a proper meal.
That's when your heart really begins to howl - when it learns what it's been missing”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
Sometimes, you don't know that you're starving until you've had a proper meal.
That's when your heart really begins to howl - when it learns what it's been missing”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
“Tomatoes
I waited so long for love
and suddenly, here it is
standing in the garden, hands full
of heirlooms hot from the sun.
Soon we’ll make a supper of them.
Salted slabs between slices of bread.
Your beard silvers. My hips ripen.
The mail piles up.
Phone calls go unanswered. Forgive us.
Our mouths are full of tomatoes.
We are so busy
being small and hungry and alive.”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
I waited so long for love
and suddenly, here it is
standing in the garden, hands full
of heirlooms hot from the sun.
Soon we’ll make a supper of them.
Salted slabs between slices of bread.
Your beard silvers. My hips ripen.
The mail piles up.
Phone calls go unanswered. Forgive us.
Our mouths are full of tomatoes.
We are so busy
being small and hungry and alive.”
― Instructions for Traveling West: Poems
