Words have power, I write to reclaim it.
I know the weight of things
heavier with the knowing
I am the physicist measuring
the depth of the universe
the cosmologist searching
for exploding stars
They believe I might be
the dark matter
that wild energy
that just might hold us together
I remain steady
suspended with hope
as they disintegrate
one by one
The stars in my universe
lighting the darkness inside
it is like coffee
sometimes hot
sometimes cold
wildly bitter or
softly sweet
all I know is this
it is everyday
and always
Walk with me
let the dreams breathe
just for one day
Into the clouds
into the mountains
along unnamed roads
Let the crisp air
pull us together
Rest with me
even as the sky dims
We will find our way
in the morning
An excerpt from Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
Oh, how one wishes sometimes to escape from the meaningless dullness of human eloquence, from all those sublime phrases, to take refuge in nature, apparently so inarticulate, or in the wordlessness of long grinding labor, of sound sleep, of true music, or of a human understanding rendered speechless by emotion.
McCandless starred and bracketed the paragraph and circled “refuge in nature” in black ink.
Next to, “And so it turned out that only a life similar to the life of those around us, merging with it without a ripple, is genuine life, and that an unshared happiness is not happiness. And this was most vexing of all,” he noted “happiness only real when shared.”
As I shake water from
the scallions, I look up and see
the both of you
resting on the grass
taking in the sun.
The ginger is firm with tan skin
still a vibrant yellow inside
reduced to thin slivers
fine enough to mix in
fierce enough to stand out.
The scallions paint the bowl
layers of white, waves of deep
and shallow greens,
their scent stings my eyes.
When you wake, the handful
of jasmine rice will be softer
than it used to be, broken
by heat, water, and time.
When you add that squeeze of lime, the
splash of fish sauce, and cast the green
and the yellow carelessly
across that milky white canvas
I’ll be thinking of them
doing the same for me,
sitting, watching me eat.
Willing me, from the top to the bottom
of every blue and white porcelain bowl
to be better, to be stronger.
becoming tabitha 