Tag: lavender

  • Poems from the not-yet blooming lavender

    Poems from the not-yet blooming lavender

    I met Rumi on the train

    might have been the last train to Transcentral

    he said he was a slave to the moon, not “the”

    i joined him

    he welcomed me

    3 preschool kids walked to us and asked if we knew the moon’s name

    Rumi said Diana

    i said Luna

    one child said, “isn’t it Orca Matriarch?”

    Rumi said yes, but he hadn’t ever heard that one; i said reassuringly, as you get older, you will hear soooooo many names of the moon

    they all are true

    all of them

    they smiled, and walked away in search of ice cream

    2026.04.19
    s.e~b

    .~.~.~.~.

    Yet

    embodied, yet spilling outside my skin

    from both the cold dip, to the sauna, to the anticipating the lavender to bloom.

    it’s the reverse, i know it…

    of that guy,

    who had the stone,

    who carved the David,

    out of the stone,

    but said David was always in there,

    all he did was remove the excess stone.

    i am all i am seen to be

    in my body

    yet the cold spills me, beyond me

    the sauna:

    my borders blur,

    we all see each other, our core for sure,

    but when we blur our eyes, we see how each of us expands

    outside the lines.

    yet we always think of ourselves INside the lines. yet,

    oh, how we aren’t.

    how

    we aren’t.

    2026.04.19
    s.e~b

    .~.~.~.~.

    Shears,

    rusty metal now, but that’s ok, they work.

    varnished wooden handles, smooth since 1963.

    bought before the 1st of 4 sons was born.

    the grown man used them on the edges of lawns, before they invented weed whackers.

    number 2 son is Maxfield, the poet, so an outcast in his own home. he has a

    twig

    green with moss,

    length of a finger,

    no thicker than a Crow’s leg.

    Crows come,

    introduce themselves.

    their names are soooooo long, because we’ve lost the sense of epic.

    Crow names include:

    parents

    tree of birth

    siblings, living and dead [including the nature of the deaths]

    evocative emotional words describing their first memory of food

    what brings them deep bliss

    titles they have earned, through great feats

    people they have loved, both Crow and human.

    “May I have your twig?”

    Maxfield says all the same information back, because he knows how it’s supposed to go.

    puts moss twig in palm

    Crow lands

    and grabs it, to fly to the nest.

    bone marrow says

    one day

    you will de-rust and polish

    the blades

    but not today.

    2026.04.19
    s.e~b