Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Improbable Apiary by Maya Owen

after Kaveh Akbar

Four bees were found in a woman's eye,
surviving by drinking her tears. They say grief

is good protein. I could not make this up.
And why act surprised? The universe

has already written the poem you were going
to write. Then it winks like this

at your efforts to pollinate anything
with your melancholy, its sticky black legs.

My sister calls. She's heard it too,
it's as we suspected: a woman

is one kind of apiary. Today the world
seems full of them, small and improbable:

this poem, for one.
Well aren't there bees in it?

Soon, I'm convinced, my doctors will notice
the noise of their wings, the veins

clogged with honey—the whole hive
I've harboured, and who've

been making a meal
of my heart.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

We have our outlook on getting older 100% wrong. It's actually pretty awesome.

"Hey man, I just turned 50 and I hope you don't mind if I throw out a bit of a secret. It turns out that we have our outlook on getting older 100% wrong. It's actually pretty awesome. Not that being in your mid 20s is a bad thing, but I wouldn't go back to it if you paid me. You have no idea how much better things can get.

"I'm for sure not as pretty as I used to be, but I have seen so much more and done so much between then and now. I know who I am, and I know that we never stop changing and growing. And that is powerful.

"Remember when you were a kid, and you would skin your knee playing and would go around showing off the scab with a weird sort of pride? That's what getting older is really like. You wont be the fresh young hero forever, but becoming the grey-beard is pretty sweet.

"Look at the picture. Do they look sad? They know something."

Thursday, May 9, 2019

Mother Earth

And the Great Mother said:

Come my child and give me all that you are.
I am not afraid of your strength and darkness, of your fear and pain.
Give me your tears. They will be my rushing rivers and roaring oceans.
Give me your rage. It will erupt into my molten volcanoes and rolling thunder.
Give me your tired spirit. I will lay it to rest in my soft meadows.
Give me your hopes and dreams. I will plant a field of sunflowers and arch rainbows in the sky.
You are not too much for me. My arms and heart welcome your true fullness.
There is room in my world for all of you, all that you are.
I will cradle you in the boughs of my ancient redwoods and the valleys of my gentle rolling hills.
My soft winds will sing you lullabies and soothe your burdened heart.
Release your deep pain. You are not alone and you have never been alone.

Linda Reuther, from Homecoming

Creation by Sergio Velasquez

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