stepping into day
light radiates within me
each moment brings joy

******

there’s a kind of gratitude
that seeps into the body
permeates the cells
becomes the life-blood
of each moment

this kind of gratitude
once experienced
does not fade away
when challenges
arise

this kind of gratitude
takes up residence
waves away all efforts
to diminish
or dissuade

once seated within
the heart leaps up
to do the work
that must
be done.

the process of growth
unfolds
takes hold
sees gains
that last

patience
persistence
wisdom
flow
freely

yes life still contains
loss and pain
suffering and sorrow
we mourn
cry out in grief

in the moment
we shed tears
feel the sadness
rend our hearts
groan in despair

still
embers of joy
glow softly
waiting
to be stirred.

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

The landscape I see,
birds swooping, leaves fluttering —
the stirring of life.

***

I chose the place I sit,
the space in my dining room,
in front of the glass patio doors.
Instead of a place to sit and eat,
I have a place to sit and see —
birds coming to the feeders,
native grasses swaying in the breeze,
an old cottonwood at the edge of the field
stark silhouette of bare branches at sunrise
before it leafs out into the fluttering
of the broad leaves of summer.

Here is my laptop
for writing,
my art supplies
for creating,
a candle 
for appeals to Spirit,
a sachet of lavender 
for soothing.

This is my hearth,
the center of the landscape
that is me,
human arriving,
Saoirse becoming,
beloved on the earth.

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

Early morning chill,
Warming sun not yet risen,
Birdsong not yet heard.

***

The sky to the east
Lightens slowly,
A magic time for
Slow breath,
Quiet mind,
Grateful heart.

The Blue Hour,
It’s called.
Not quite dawn,
More twilight
As the sun still lies
Deep below the horizon. 

Vibrant, deep,
“Sweet light,”
Soft light,
A time of tranquility,
Meeting the chillness
With my favorite fleece.

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

Rocks carefully placed
decades ago, now disturbed.
A new plan emerges.

***

In the first days, 
when this house was fresh
and new, awaiting 
my particular imprint,
I created a garden
of rocks and stones
and periwinkle.

A small circle of stepping stones,
the center a terra cotta birdbath
surrounded by tiny purple flowers
amidst dark green foliage,
a border of rounded river rocks,
one etched with the word “trust.”

A failed water valve, an emergency,
hours and hours of poking,
digging, scanning —
the rocks now piled in awkward lumps,
the birdbath crumbled,
“trust” disappeared in the detritus
of what was. 

In the days to come, 
I will clear the ground,
discover what remains 
and open the portal 
to a new kind of wholeness.