Cotopaxi, Ecuador (summer 2012)

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

into the wind

into the wind:


the air had come briskly over from the one side
and left a mark
on the water's cold edge.


the sun shining down caught the steady breeze
shaking the beach with bits of fractured light.


and where it was dry:
a child's toy, two women talking about life,
distant organ grinder music, a plastic fork,
an assemblage of bric-a-brac, drift wood and unrealized dreams.


with a flower vase carried in her right hand,
which held ointment instead of fresh cuttings,
a weeping girl sat heavily on her shadow,
her bald head filled with mystery.
she looked up and saw a darkened cloud
about to block the sun.


a kite spun crazily overhead
when a young boy unrolled his string.

his hair was whipped by the wind.

he saw the toy but knew it wasn't his. 

he heard the crying girl, but knew he didn't know. 

the two women kept talking about life while walking away. 

Monday, February 16, 2026

It takes a village

Hillary Clinton once said that

"It takes a village" 

in reference to raising our kids.

She was exploring the notion of

embodying resilience,

of recognizing we're members of the same tribe,

of our mutual responsibilities to the 

recognizing the importance of the other. 

Notice, too, that embodying

has the word body as part of its' letters.

body.  somebody. anybody. everybody !

the web of nature finds us sharing so much

more than sounds and colors, appetites

and agonies, laughs and lusts.

we are the village.

we are a single musical note within the score.

 

when Bette and I sought to climb Quandry Peak,

the highest summit in Colorado's Tenmile Range, 

standing at 14,271 feet, we weren't thinking

about the village.

we weren't thinking about our relationships

with others.

we weren't thinking about caring for others.

at the moment of beginning our ascent from the dirt

parking area, we saw a sign that said there are no

easy 14'ers.  We thought we'd walk up the hill.

and then, the walk became serious. 

it was no cake walk, that's certain,

as i reflect on the effort. 

scree slopes; huge rocks; few flat sections and those only for mere feet;

hours of up and up looming over us in the distant clouds.

each step and a foot tilted and angled and, sometimes, slid.

one step followed another.  higher altitude with less oxygen caused

our breathing to become labored.  heaving chests.  no air.

we weren't thinking about the village.

Until, that is, descending climbers passed by with words

of encouragement.  "You've got this!" they said.

still, fatigue set in.

we stopped many times, trying to slow our heart rates,

catch our fleeing breath, again and again and again.

One passing couple suggested to Bette she should think short term:

take a couple of ascending steps

and then pause.  it was a good strategy.  It worked.

Another older gentleman told us that he already made several prior

attempts to reach the summit and failed.  This was his third try

and he made it.  He was elated at the success, proud and injected us both

with a renewed sense of optimism.

"You've got this!"

"Just a little ways to go!" said others.

"you're almost there!" 

We realized we were on a group effort.

The distance to the summit was closer, reachable.

and, yes, eventually we did stand on the summit in gratitude, 

sitting down for a long while,

soaking in the amazing views which stretched

for dozen of miles overlooking surrounding peaks and steep

valleys.  How did we manage?

I'm convinced we couldn't have made it on our own.

it was what strangers provided us as they spoke up and smiled.

feelings of support.  encouragement.  connection. 

yes, it was what we had inside of us, but equally important\

was what was between us and around us.

"You got this!" 

"It takes a village!" 

Friday, February 13, 2026

Chair with Peaches (Matisse, 1919)

the straw seat of the chair was near the altar
when i approached with my new idea.

i placed three peaches
on their white plate atop the French chair sitting
near the patterned wallpaper inside the blue space.

but the angle of the chair was unfamiliar to me
and my point of view.

moving forward, i held one peach
and took a single bite.

and as far as the chairs were concerned,
i had made a choice.

we were forever changed. 

Thursday, February 12, 2026

a battle for the human soul

The Bridge at Remagen

is not in the United States,
but it is a bridge too far,
no matter who you are:
what don't you understand?
it is not in Minneapolis
never has been
and never will,
no matter who you are
or how many you try to kill
with a hammer or an ice pick,
you prick.
the Super Dooper Looper
is a roller coaster
not a super storm trooper
with Kevlar vest and thermal eyes,
a black heart of steel and forked-tongue lies.
a grieving mother cries
under your cloud of steaming gas:
she's all the way from the fertile underclass
with an academic degree of dirty nails,
disdainful of your modern jails,
scornful of your belly fat:
your constant bragging about this or that!
if it's not a charade,
it's no longer an Independence Day parade
as far as i can see,
morally and intellectually,
it's a battle for our deepest, most humane human soul
and everyone has a role.

Mao's little red book

The Yellow River

with a mighty brown flood,

and the Yangtze

with potent dragon's blood:

millions of buried ghosts,

bodies dead or alive!

brave protesters in Hong Kong

finding it hard to thrive

inside Mao's little Red Book,

raising their heads for a gambler's quick look.

See!  there's the Great Wall:

a Terracotta army of the first Emperor

holding swords and shields, standing tall.

Dynasties leading deeply into times that last

with echos of great tragedies

from present to distant past.

fields of plenty and loss

almost too far to walk across;

sprawling cities on expansive coastal plains;

thunder beyond the near mountains followed by torrential rains,

arriving early or leaving too late,

keen eyes sipping pearl milk tea served on a special China dinner plate,

too proud to kneel

for another expensive Western meal!

Wednesday, February 11, 2026

you're no longer there

it's not as it used to be

as you can plainly see

not in our hours of daylight

or even late at night 

when i hang the picture of your face

on the wall by my resting place

and reach to touch your hair

when i look

you're no longer there 

when i thought i couldn't miss

you walked away with your kiss

so you don't miss me

confidentially 

like a tango would miss a beat

or a hot rod might miss the street

it's uncertain in my heart

how this stop can become a start

when i saw your smile on Sunday

it was gone again on Monday 

i reach to touch your hair

when i look

you're no longer there

Jessica in Madrid, Spring 2006

Jessica in Madrid, Spring 2006
daughter is empowering herself