No One But Me

Many months ago, when Violet was new, I wrote, "there is no one to save you in the small hours" still thinking only of myself. Of course, no more than a foot from arms slept a tiny baby, who was with me at all times. I helped her and rocked her and fed her and changed her and photographed her and marveled at her and loved her, but I still was only thinking about me. Sorry for me. Worried for me. Who would take care of me? "If I cried out/who would hear me up there/among the angelic order?" Oh, Rimbaud, let's go to sleep.

But, of course, that worldview has all but vanished. I have shifted, or submitted to a shift in the cosmos. The existence of Violet means I must be busy doing the saving. When she's crying, when she's hurt, in the dark, in the night, when she is confused and wakes up from a nightmare she can't explain. I am here to save her in the small hours. When all seems bleak and hopeless. When terror sets in. And maybe, through this unforced action, through love which struck immediately and a gentleness which has developed over time, I will also learn to guide myself, out of deep water, until we all are sound.

One's Own

I left the baby in her crib to cry and work out her crankiness. I think she needed to be contained, first I hugged, rocked, and nursed her to lullabyes - why can't I spell lullabyes? - then I lay her in her crib to go it alone. Too much stimuli, perhaps, when you are one and everything is so much. Then I shut myself in the bathroom, sat on the damp bathmat and polished my nails, fingers and toes, warm from the radiator and the sunlight streaming in. It was all quiet. She slept, finally. I thought and patiently practiced the art of being alone.

Kitchen Buddhas

every day is the same.
we prepare, chop, carry
put up food, give some for ourselves, scramble and bow
at the end of the night we put every object back
in their places, and scrub and scour, dump and wash
and sweep and mop with water.

it should restore our humanity, rather than deplete it.
this is not mechanization, but necessary human work
the business of a lifetime.

Sunday 11:11

The soft-bellied sky hangs over Rockland,
blessed tidal village of the sea.
All is well with my three-fold family -
we have little else but love,
and we are, we are happily

A New Year

There is darkness around the edges, fear and anger I haven't expelled. I am better at breathing and action. I am trying to be more gentle with myself. But in some ways I feel the same as always. An adorable failure, falling ever farther behind my peer group. I want to buy a house and dig deep to make room for roots and stay and grow and build, down and up and up. I want to be the still point and strong center, who makes my family feel safe and protected. I want to create lovely things. And connect. And radiate so much love and compassion. I need more peace. I need more therapy and more dancing. What happened to dancing. I need a babysitter. And time away. For myself. I need to write more. And captain my fate. I need sobriety and transcendence of self-pity, for suffering is never going away, not until I die. And now, with Violet, I want that to not be for a long time. So I need a real retirement plan. But, first, a career. And stock advice. And confidence. And new boots. Is that a resolution? Buy good boots. There, that's it. Just be better already.