For 40 Wednesdays I’ve been meeting you in your email inbox with a little piece of my brain.
Last summer I was awakened (maybe re-awakened) to the beauty and spirituality of poetry. Since one Wednesday morning in mid-May, I’ve kept a journal in whatever bag I’m carrying that day. I have two different sizes — one for my tote bag and one for my crossbody bag (the one used while traveling).
I shared a poem through Instagram that was formed through grief (although all I could call it then was a maze of emotions), and I saw first-hand the simple power of someone else’s words as a meeting space.
A meeting place of two people, two stories, two places, even two conflicting ideas…or at least the grey space in between the points of meeting.
And during this current season in life, poetry has been my way of connecting to everything living, whether it contains breath or not. (It’s hard for me not to include rocks in the “living” category). And how I believe it’s all connecting/connected to me, too.
For everyone that chooses to spend a few minutes each week with me and my poetry, thank you. Your kind words have supported and encouraged me; reminding me that words, no matter how simple or short strung, can create whatever you want or may need them to.
Last weekend, I went to New Mexico with my mom. We drove around Taos, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque chasing the Turquoise Trail and the artists in each. Having never been to New Mexico before, I had no idea what to expect from the terrain, the kind of people we would be surrounded with or what their art truly was like.
As soon as we were driving up 1-25, it started to remind me of parts of Southern California with desert shrubs dotting the ridges and patches of cedar trees in the wet valleys that were void of much sand. A mix of different locations that had been archived in my mind, that’s where we found ourselves.
Sky and Clay
A planet that never ends,
stretched around itself.
-
A hidden city
only found to those
searching in the cracked valleys
known to their feet and their mind.
Scarce swollen clouds are found in the streams,
since dried up.
Red clay hardened by the sun,
the skin of the earth burrowed in
for shelter and hospitality,
Is this what we call a home?
Holes in the earth we build or find.
A place to sleep under the blue ocean of a sky,
stars swim through soft currents and galaxial waves.
A living room whose windows
are framed through dry sagebrush branches.
-
Here, we walk in the space of dreams,
the horizon being the only fine line.
A dream where the sky is really this blue,
and the ground really this red,
where your dream finally has the room to live,
in the holes in the earth we may stumble upon and settle.
Expecting a palette of muted hues and cloudy skies, I was turned around.
The colors were brighter, more vibrant that ever thought.
The sky was deeper and wider than ever seen.
—
May the terrain and weather you see today bring you dreams and possibilities unknown to you…
yet.
Until next time,
Madeline
Eloquently written 🫶
Simply beautiful Mad's!