35cups

[35cups]

Day 35 | The First Death

I have knelt in the silence My knees on the ground my head on the burial shroud I have looked into the blue eyes of my father and seen that he is no longer there

After the first death

The scent of the hospital The cool colors The clean grey linoleum floor There is nothing sacred about this place except everything

Meet me when I close my eyes Show me who you really are, The one who laughs and sings and cries My dear beloved father

On the first of June we mark your death With words and honors in your name Everything that’s come before The filling of the grave

After the first death I laugh at the bony finger

Knowing the way that the bird comes to land in the snowy tree outside my window Knowing the way that I know before I look with my eyes

That is how you come From the depths Into my throat Out my mouth

And I am left Light and hollow

And all the wild colors come From heaven to earth

After the first death

#35cups #volume2 #day35 #sept22 #porcelain #lastdayofsummer

[35cups]

Day 34 | I Write

This morning I want To feel the writing To feel the of ink coming out of pen

The words and images form in my mind Are transferred to the page

I like to press hard To feel the friction of pen on paper And the heat of coffee in my throat

Tension from my fingertips Through my shoulders Into my core Down to my toes This whole body writes

When the channel surges I relax Non-words slip into poems Like the touch of warm water on naked skin

Letting go I write

Tuning the instrument Listening Rhyming the sounds

Opening I write

To inspiration’s source To waters uncharted Beyond mere ideas

In harmonic sounds In rhythms In waters I write

In air and fire and earth I write

With you With me With all I write So help me God

#35cups #volume2 #day34 #sept21 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 33 | Fire

The window is thrown open The breeze blows hot through the curtains Outside smells enter

On the window stands a three-inch plastic hula girl Dancing

I drop back onto the leather sofa Think of the news Think of the house that was once our home

Consumed by fire but not by grief No tears come to turn ash into mud Or streets into rivers

On the night before the fire You carved your name into the mantle And then we sat together to watch the fire burn

This time, I open the window but you are not there And it’s not our home that’s burning, but theirs

I pray and walk outside To find Someone to stand beside

#35cups #volume2 #day33 #sept20 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 32 | Miracles

These words tread lightly Or come down with hammer’s strength

I lay my head upon the anvil A piñata filled with air

You won’t find me here When life has given my body leave

We already know That we will die, That is not the mystery of life

I’d rather know How to get this going How to start the engine How to steer the ship

I sit on the bench Watching Friends take chances Make babies Publish their lives

The tiny turns of life change everything

Thoughts of failure stay my pen Safe and close within the lines I color with sharpened crayons

The painter arrives Prepares his buckets and brushes Meets the stuccoed wall

From wherever There is another step And like the ones and zeros of a video game Tiny adjustments Turn completions Into beginnings

#35cups #volume2 #day32 #sept19 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 31 | The Only Way

The idea comes in Filters through the soft layers of my brain And into reach

It is here in a breath and the blink of an eye Quietly here An uncharted island on the horizon

I sail closer Pen to paper Over swells of distraction Hunger and lust

Through flat winds and hot days Through nights with diamond skies.

Like a little brother am I On my big brother’s birthday

I arrive My ship presses its bow into the sand of the shore

I splash in the crystal waters My parched throat calls for sweet coconut milk

I enter Explore jungles and deep waters Flora and fauna

Doubt Speaks: Don’t get lost Don’t wander too far Remember where you came from

A storm rages

Back on the shore I collect the pieces of my sunken ship And build a shelter from its remnants

With my pocket knife I carve words above the door: The only way out is through

#35cups #volume2 #day31 #sept18 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 30 | Currents

Coy in the pond Are moved by water Currents of their friends Position of the moon

A submarine Deep in the ocean Feels the still current Translates it into words

Simply we live Like coy in water Perceiving directly The currents of our time

#35cups #volume2 #day30 #sept17 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 29 | Sycamore

A Sycamore tree Stands across the street From where I live.

It greets me in the morning And whenever I come home.

Most of the time, We don’t say a word.

We just exchange the light That passes through our leaves And grow A little more Each Day.

#35cups #volume2 #day29 #sept16 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 28 | Bluebirds

I stand Balanced on my two feet. The weight of the world below, Grounding me the way that potatoes are grounded in the garden.

My thick roots sink, tuberous into the ground. While bluebirds dance around my head in the sky.

It would be awfully boring up here. If it wasn’t for the clouds, Telling stories.

Down where my feet live, I look around. I see people, like clouds who walk red curbs telling stories and hanging onto streetlights as they round corners so as to keep from falling in the ditch.

In the pole-dance of a life, I move for loose dollar bills that are thrown, slipped, and suggested.

My mom types with one finger on each hand. Plugging away to write lesson plans for third graders who ball up pieces of paper and throw them at each other in the classroom.

Out on the playground, They play And the clouds look down and tell stories.

Bluebirds dance on a ten thousand volts wire, The way that your skin and your bones dance around your soul.

KAPLOW!

When the poles are closed, The energy moves through. Wakes up a room of babies. Says, “Run!” Before they can walk

The disparate elements trail off like stones through a river and I am stuck. Rapids swirl around my feet and water rises, seeping into my sneakers.

This place where the bluebirds cross a thousand times a day, Gives me pause like death.

Downstream the water turns glassy before the falls And the clouds look down to make faces in their reflections.

Double pool in the depths, the sound of water thunders above and me, pinned to the bottom, laughing through my gills, Catching every bubble of a word that comes within reach.

The bluebird flew. Just like any old day, through the battlefield of Vegas, Watching people falling, thinking they were just looking up, to tell stories about the clouds.

And the clouds looked down, Feeling the moisture of evaporated blood and preparing it as rain.

A gothic arch in a cathedral is an upturned half-pipe, A skateboarder rides through the pews Hard wheels on the stone floor.

The church bells peel while the bluebirds stand witness on their perch.

In the piazza, an ancient sculpture stands. A thread hanging from its outstretched finger On the end of which hangs a deflated mylar balloon.

Happy birthday.

And the clouds look down And tell stories About the patterns that they see.

#35cups #volume2 #day28 #sept15 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 27 | The Scent of Fall

The scent of Fall arrives with the setting sun, The earth tilts the last fraction of a degree Crosses the line into Autumn

I stand in the middle of an empty room Vacated by summer The dents from the furniture still visible in the carpet

The air comes in, blue through the window, It’s cool and crisp like the crunch of an ice cube in a restaurant glass of water You should know that I don’t like ice in my water I prefer my cold in the air, Prefer the way it slips past the curtains and into the room.

Fall seeps in - pushing out the last vestiges of Summer That take refuge against the ceiling. I reach up and touch it with the tips of the fingers on my right hand

The colors of my own leaves turn inside me And I remember the long productive months of June, July, and August

The prolific and organic blueberries at the market, The long days and the evening bike rides, The Pacific Ocean feeling a little bit too warm And the hurricanes that keep coming to other places and other people

I want the cold Want the winter to come, To put everything on ice

But first, there is the Fall First is the time when the leaves come down from the trees. And the days shorten gradually until the hours fall back, plunging us into darkness before the workday is done.

My body craves the Pacific Northwest. The sound of cold rain on the hood of my rain jacket, Apples picked from the tree and blackberries picked from the vine Mussels pried from the rocky shoals of the Pacific coast. Squash in the oven and the stew in the slow-cooker Warm inside, Cold outside.

Back in the empty room, I ask my body to tell me what it knows. And it carries me to the cabinet of linens, Opens the door, Wraps itself in the down comforter And turns With the setting of the sun

#35cups #volume2 #day27 #sept14 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 26 | Whitaker

Now we live on Greenfield, Then we live on gold. This land is fertile as you know, Let’s see what we can grow.

#35cups #volume2 #day26 #sept13 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 25 | To Care and Not to Care

I come into the dark room and see you hunched over a candle, heating a can of baked beans over the single flame.

The smell of gin is in the air.

And that says enough.

At first the floor seems to be made of dirt but then reveals itself as carpet consumed by the filth of decades.

I just stand there, caught at the switchboard of decision, my mind races down a hundred dark allies.

My feet turn on the damp carpet. First my left foot, then my right foot, pointing towards the door. I hear the sound of the beans bubbling and smell burnt tin and paper from the can.

It’s dusk outside and I can see a thin sliver of blue sky through the doorway.

I know that path well. It has lead me to safety many times, to the security of somewhere else.

I take one step and that is all. The sharp smell of gin again and the image of you, hunched over the candle, heating a can of baked beans on a little grate above the candle flame. You, sitting on the dirt of the floor, becoming one with its soiled seams.

And me, not wanting you to go. And me, not knowing how to stop you.

I am wearing the boots that I borrowed from your closet. Inside of them, I turn.

Toes curling. Clothes turning.

The spool of memory.

I am being so careful now. Approaching you with the softest steps. Approaching you, the smell of gin and the smell of fear as one. A gut-wrenching odor that yells, “RUN!”

I do not.

Step-over-step I walk to you. I enter the space of your loneliness. Move along the edge of the chasm. I pass the bottle that lies empty on the soft floor. Rocks fall, showing me where I do not want to go.

From somewhere a breeze brings a fresh-aired moment.

And I am with you, down on my knees, arm around your shoulders. I am inside the foul frame.

I am touching you, turning you. Touching my forehead to yours. Running my fingers through your hair and looking, Into your eyes.

#35cups #volume2 #day25 #sept12 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 24 | A Bold Entrance

A flower blooms in my backyard I squeeze a mint leaf between my thumb and forefinger It’s the last day of summer

On the coasts of Northern California Waves crash on the frozen beach And summertime revelers walk in parkas and ski pants

The cold enters in Refreshing, Enlivening, Invigorating my lungs

Cooling the summer burn That had settled there

A bold entrance

An entering throw Staying close Taking care Leading you to the ground

A bold entrance

Quiet, unconcerned, Steady like the river into the sea Like the life-changing question That comes to sit in your living room

A bold entrance

A sour taste A longing for a toothbrush Mouth fuzzy Mid-flight

A bold entrance

A salad with too much dressing Sent back to the kitchen on an embarrassed tray

A bold entrance

“Conmigo” came the word Into my sorrow and awakened me For another round

#35cups #volume2 #day24 #sept11 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 23 | The Script

Here’s the script: Too much water and not enough coffee.

We sit down for our morning breakfast table chat. I sip mine and you sip yours. And we both know.

Basically, we’re just drinking warm, brown water.

I start thinking about where my next cup of coffee is going to come from.

You say, “you can’t count on the future.”

The script was all wrong from the beginning.

Plato counts his beans in my kitchen - brings the water to a rolling boil and then waits five minutes.

Temperature and weight correct The rituals commence

The moment before I stood with arms outstretched

The moment before I did the downward dog.

Hot feet on the soft carpet tell me what my faded caramel skin already knows. Summer is coming to an end. Let’s get Swedish and talk about fish.

Back to the script.

The day at stake, you look at me over the quickly cooling coffee - soon to have no redeeming value whatsoever. I pull the script from my messenger bag along with a thick red pen.

And edit as if my life depended on it.

The first round of coffee becomes a joke. There’s a secret stash that you didn’t know about of the freshest beans and like water into wine I measure - grind - boil - heat - pour and serve. The script is all back on track.

Page two, please.

#35cups #volume2 #day23 #sept10 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 22 | Transition

AKA going from one thing to another AKA Crossing the bridge AKA the point of no return

Change and the fear of change.

How about that for a poem? How about that for a life?

You and I have both done this - chained ourselves to the lap of comfort in the name of security. You and I have both felt the concrete fear of letting one thing go in order to reach for another.

Then the day comes and our raise gets denied and all the plans that we built on that ship sink to the bottom of the harbor with the other ships that never sailed.

And in that moment it would be the easiest thing in the world to give up - and also the hardest.

Money doesn’t grow on trees And it can’t buy happiness neither Once it’s met your basic needs

How about we try another thing today? Let’s walk ourselves across the bridge of change With a sunflower umbrella And take photos on our smartphones to share the moment of transition Let’s say, “I am here. And today I work for happiness and for courage and for love.”

#35cups #volume2 #day22 #september9 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 21 | Why I Write

Because why not?

Why not try to tell the stories that have not been told? Why not take a stab at turning nothing into something, at snatching gold coins out of thin air?

Thin air.

The magician’s trick is practiced, behind the curtain until the moment it is ready to be revealed. So the story lies dormant for centuries until the unwitting writer comes along and plunks his foot down on the delicato landmine.

Why I write?

Because writing is life. I sit down and anything could happen, just like when I wake up to the alarm each morning. When I show up, I get to watch it all, I get to participate and not participate Do you know what I mean?

If there were a way to write and not write at the same time, now that would be pretty slick. Like a shower cap. Like going out in the rain and not getting wet. Like swimming with sharks. Until they find out that you are in the same water that they are - then it can get a little rough.

They say that our bodies are ninety percent space. They say the things that appear solid are mostly empty. I remember an episode of Super Man in which he vibrates his hand so fast that the molecules fly apart and he is able to pass through glass.

Just keep up the vibes and keep the good words coming. Don’t look down because you’re building a bridge and driving over it at the same time and behind you comes the whole battalion of humanity. Shonda Rhimes calls it, “laying track.”

I write because I have to. Because I can smell the images like a truffle pig and I want to dig them up and polish them off. Or maybe it’s because I always wanted a metal detector as a child to see if I could find any treasure in the orchard on my grandfather's farm.

This writing is the best I know to take that adventure with me wherever I go.

And the gold is already written into it. Just the joy of catching a wave of words and letting it take me where it will. Like Huck Finn on the river. I just gotta trust that it’ll take me somewhere and when I get there that’s where I’m gonna need to be.

I write because it saves me. Midnight journal entries bring peace to my troubled mind. A write-and-burn turns my anger to ash.

I don’t write for you. I don’t know what you want and by the time you manage to tell me, you might as well have written it yourself. So I have to write for me, you see?

So let’s pick a thread together and give it a good tug to see which wild beast comes connected at the end of it. I’m fishing in the deep sea of words and if I use the right combination of bait and skill I might just pull a string of pearls.

I write to write. For its own sake. Because it fills the empty tank. Because it gives me respite from being smart. When I write, I don’t have to know anything. Only that I don’t know. Only that there could be anyone and anything around the next corner and the floors keep shifting so that I’m not sure that I can go back the way I came. Once you get into this thing, you just gotta keep writing until the whistle blows and you get pulled! You get pulled up into the sky by the referee and you take a look together to see what came out.

Mostly junk, probably.

Mostly junk, but always the possibility of a precious stone. And if you’re lucky you get a gem that you’ve got to work at and facet until it shines and gleams. And then you’ve got to put it in the setting. But that’s not until it chooses you, then you just take care of the thing and it’ll tell you where it needs to go.

But what would I know about all this? I just sweep the floors around here and see what I can do with the random characters that accumulate under the vending machines and behind the doors. I’m just the one who sweeps the floors.

That’s why I write.

#35cups #volume2 #day21 #september8 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 20 | The Drum in My Room

Sometimes, when I call for help, I hear an answer. Other times, I do it just for show.

I want to know everything. I’ve spent lifetimes in a library whose shelves go from floor to ceiling. And I have looked, everywhere that you have looked, to recover the lost pieces of myself.

There is a drum in my room that I use as a bedside table. And when I leave the house it rallies all the clutter into a riotous mob. Pots and knick-knacks and pink paperclips parade through the hall and assemble themselves as figurative sculptures in the living room.

There is not that separates trash from treasure. But caring does, And gratitude, And forgiveness. And they have done the same for me when the drum pounds and my thoughts turn sour in my mind. So I use them often, to secure the line that keeps me from falling too far when I forget.

#35cups #volume2 #day20 #september7 #porcelain

[35cups]

Day 19 | The Blank Page

I could look at the blank page all day. The way its parallel lines wait to hold my words sends shivers of excitement down my spine.

Like the tracks of a Roller Coaster A Rocky Mountain Railroad That carries me, delighted, hands thrown in the air.

Can you smell the crisp morning air? Can you feel it on your skin?

This clean page is the break of day and The unbridled sense of possibility is upon me.

Get this feeling: Your favorite theme park is about to open and you are the first in line. Or You are the first on the chair lift on a clear morning after a night of big snow.

My words make fresh tracks on these pages.

This is where I meet my family, Listen to my grandfather’s stories, Smell the smoke of Marlboros in the old family home.

Like the glassy morning water of Lake Champlain This blank page waits for me to dive And I swim - out and back.

I thank the trees for whatever part their brethren played in giving their wood to the task at hand.

The sacred path of paper has been walked for centuries Like the aises in a stone cathedral Or a snowy mountain pass .

Come with me on this adventure And let us see what we can find.

#35cups #volume2 #day19 #september6 #porcelain