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Day Thirteen: Landscape
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. -
Day Twelve: Kinship
a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)[Note: experimenting with the extended form of haiku called tanka]
Gathering to me
the ones who see me, know me,
listen to my words,
listen to the heart beneath,
listen to my brokenness.***
He was gone early.
A night of sirens,
Weeks of hospital gowns,
And then the day
My mother came home
To tell us he was dead.For decades I was alone.
Too much for my angry mother,
Too much for anyone, really,
Including the young girl
Who wanted one thing only,
To crawl in the lap of her absent father
And feel that embrace
Once more.I tried hard
To be okay,
To find the love I needed,
To be worthy.The winter was long
And cold
And harsh.A glimpse of spring
Now and then.
The beauty of autumn
A temporary balm
For the soul.Just now,
In the autumn of my life
I begin to feel
The kinship
Of the ones
Who are gathered,
Who are here,
Who are listening,
Feeling,
Caringfor me
I’m beginning to feel the ease
Of being held.
Some from the past,
Some in this moment,
Some from a time to come.I am caught in a web of love.
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Day Eight: Harvest
a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)[Note: experimenting with the extended form of haiku called tanka]
You may harvest peas;
I’ll eat your peas with gusto
While gathering words,
Simple words plucked from stardust,
Reflecting a woman’s soul.***
It is the time of planting.
A long winter forestalled
The excited dropping of seeds
In the turned ground,
Re-discovering water spigots
And long hoses,
Tiny hand-written signs
To map the anticipated
Crop of green shoots.I am planting poems,
Harvesting the words
Dropped into the
Fertile ground of my being,
Tending the flow
Of desire and imagination,
Discovering the map
Of my heart.Let’s set a table
Together.
Your leafy greens,
My tendrils of thought,
Entwined in conversation,
Sating our appetite
For belonging. -
Day Seven: Chill
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. -
Day Six: Survival
a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)I count survival
as the-best-I-could-do then.
In this time, I live.***
little tree
still alive
still leafing out in spring
as if your skin did not split
after an early freeze
then peel
and fall to the ground
leaving no cover
for your soft white inner coreas if the forester did not sever
your trunk
in an attempt to save your life
leaving one branch
askew and tilting to the side
still green
still drawing nourishment
from the earth
from your roots
still reaching to the skyeach spring
you stand
unfurl your leaves
offer a spot of shade
just to the side
of your slender
deeply scarred trunkyou look broken
yet you live
in full treeness -
Day Five: Rocks
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. -
Day Four: Wilderness
a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)In the wilderness
I hear the voice of wisdom,
the One who sees me.***
No cars, no convenience stores,
no latest episodes to consume.Stones, and tiny alpine flowers,
a rugged Bristlecone pine,
scarred by wind and sun.A broad, flat rock
for spreading out
beneath the startling blue sky.I am a stranger in this place,
come from hardness,
seeking refuge, an escape
from all the noise
I’ve left behind.I wait.
I stand in the sun’s light,
eyes closed,
breathing.A voice whispers in my ear,
calls my name,
offers the tender embrace
of one who loves me, sees me.“I am here.”
We wander in the wilderness,
together in the quiet,
comfort for the wounds I carry,
honey for my soul. -
Day Three: Frost
a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)White crystals etched in
wood, in stone, in tiny tufts
of new grass, in me.***
Warm air caught
in the chill
of what lies beneath.A temporary frost.
As the warmth of day
seeps into the ground
the etchings disappear,
a bit of damp left behind
until that, too, is gone.A pattern etched
in my heart,
the chill of fear
and shame and guilt —
and loneliness.I breathe,
await the warmth of
“being with,”
of trusting.I am not alone.
I am beloved. -
Day Two: Sunlight
a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)It would be better to write about sunlight
in the sunlight,
than in the gray overcast skies of afternoon.But I remember
how the light changes as I wake
and consider moving downstairs.And once there, how the light
stirs the birds to sing,
calling to one another,
“I am here!”I remember the warmth
on the back of my very old dog,
how he stands, his head up
as his hips relax.The sunlight in morning
smells fresh,
invites me into the day,
reminds me to notice —*now*
because in the next minute
something shifts
and we are into the mix
of-it-all. -
Day One: Sustainability
a poem a day in the month of may
The Liminality Journal — Kaitlin CurticeIt’s the little bits.
Sustain-ability is
done in small, slow steps.Having turned 71 last month, I’ve been focussed on “a year of healthy living.” I’m not counting steps or calories. I do not own a scale for checking my weight. I’m not looking at macros or banning carbs. (My system, however, does not tolerate dairy or gluten.)
I do check the pedometer on my Apple Watch but not because I’ve set a goal for a certain number of steps. It’s more like checking my pulse. More a question for me to monitor: How am I doing with movement so far today?
I am also keeping a food journal. Time of day, general description of what I’ve consumed, precipitating event, sensations in my body, thoughts, feelings. Not attempting to change anything. Just noticing what’s happening and look for patterns. I’ve discovered much of my eating is unconscious, without actually tasting or enjoying the food. And that’s something I aim to change, as my intention for healthy living is to enjoy the food I eat and feel good afterwards.
I’m also logging other health factors, mainly because I want to support my body in living a good life over the next few years … because I’ve finally learned that caring for myself matters … because I’ve finally learned I am worthy of love, no matter what.
It seems that caring about myself in these small moments of movement and savoring my food and supporting my body are part of living well. Of loving myself well. Now and in the time to come.
