Practicing Human

But most of all I write poetry in the darkness before morning because it becomes wrinkled paper with a thousand folds in my hands...

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I practice being human whenever I can.

While I’m waiting to pick my youngest up at her school,
I find in my heart the warmth I have for her,
stoke its coals hotter,
bring it to the front of my mind and glory in all the possible hers,
so she has a meal of my joy to feast on
when she arrives.

I let myself linger on my son’s face as he shares new complexities of the world.
His sensitivity,
his thoughtfulness,
his awareness,
his beauty
are mine to treasure,
and mirror back to him.

I wrap myself in the fur of all our animals,
love them as much as they will be loved,
which is more love than I can know.
Our fattest cat has a delicious belly that she is so proud of.
I celebrate her fatness with her
rubbing her girth in wonderment at the grandeur of it all,
assuring her that she is the greatest, fattest cat that has ever been.

Our Shepherd dog only sometimes stays still enough for me to wrap myself around her,
nuzzling the layered fur that protects her,
becoming a child breathing in her must of tall dry grass, desert dust and the sweat of play.
I sing to her that she is more glorious than the greatest statue ever carved
or the greatest painting ever made,
letting her lick my ear for as long as I can stand it.

But most of all I write poetry in the darkness before morning
because it becomes wrinkled paper with a thousand folds in my hands
that I can unwrap to discover
how I am arriving in this moment,
how I am becoming here.

In those folds of tea stained, yellowing paper
are the elusive parts of me
hidden blossoms waiting to be remembered.
Though the biting, frenetic fences of the civil world cut at me,
I celebrate these gifts of being,
like a daughter crossing the lawn at school to be picked up, taken home and fed while she cuddles her furry animals and gives her Gecko a live Corn Worm
colored a glorious turquoise,
like no other,
a meal fit only for the greatest Gecko princess that has ever been.

Poetry teaches me to be human
again and again
settling me into the fires of life
so that I can be made every day
anew.