April 24 (poem 24)

“If you are looking for hope”

There is a woman in France who smears salve in the form of
braided strips of fabric
into the chapped lips of the Parisian streets.
Her name is Juliana Santacruz Herrera.

There is a swan in Germany who has spent eight years
in love with a blue tractor,
trailing it as though he has found his red thread,
as though his heart could speak engine
as well as it speaks grit.

Currently there are more libraries in the United States of America
than McDonalds;
sometimes this is the only statistic I can stomach.
I have easily consumed more books
than burgers in my life.

As for you, Swan,
I too have learned to love things that rumble;
our hearts are not so different,
when it comes right down to it.

Last,
Juliana,
I just want you to know
that the potholed road I call my heart could use
some yarn art
to fill its splits and cracks
with softness.

April 14

“heartwood”

The only part of a tree that dies when it stops growing
is the heartwood
which pretty much holds true for people too.
You could count my growth rings
if you could take a cross-section of my insides,
but it would leave me shot through with holes
or split entirely in half
and it would probably hurt.
Considering our relationship with gravity
it’s pretty surprising we only teach people to stand
and don’t teach people
how to fall,
but we tell people that when you do fall
you will only fall once.
We never talk about the regrowth,
the spaces you open for newcomers when you’re down
how you can house entire civilizations
by instinct.
Know that what grows up out of you
can fall too
and really
you’re less like a tree
and more like a whole
forest.