The Poems of Our Lives

On the way to the dentist
there are turtles crossing the road,
I should stop to move them,
but I don’t have enough time.
“Keep going!”
I call to each one as I pass,
too fast,
for anything more
than thoughts and prayers.
I see a dead hawk
in the road
and then five vultures
surrounding a crumpled deer.
“I’m so sorry!”
I call out,
as I drive,
brief tears springing up
to prickle behind my eyes.
There is a dogwood tree
in full bloom
outside the dentist’s office window
and I look at it as I get my teeth cleaned,
the sky is dark with clouds.
At home,
yellow and white violets
are in bloom,
I love their incongruous naming.
I spot the first hummingbird
of the year arrive,
having crossed gulfs to get to my window,
but the feeder I put out last week
has been blown into the grass by the wind.
I hurry inside the house
to mix sugar into water
thinking about turtles
and dogwoods,
and poems.

I wrote this after I got home from the dentist last week using my “six word poem” technique the process of which I then shared live during a Temple of the Ordinary chat with WomanSpirit Reclamation (replay link below).

I believe that we all have stories and that our lives are poems we live every day. Our stories don’t have to be grand and glorious or broad and sweeping. They can be small and soft and ordinary.


In the Temple of the Ordinary is available on Etsy, Amazon, and Kindle.

I write often of the magic of place, of being alert for enchantment, of keeping your eyes open for bits of magic and scraps of beauty in your own back yard, of small pilgrimages into the sacred sites of your own landscape and form.

Sometimes the bits of magic are in your driveway instead of your backyard, like this perfect little hag stone that was looking up at me from the gravel as I carried my laptop out to the studio to work last week.

I root myself deeply
in the changing rhythms
and changing land on which I live.
I am nourished by the magic of place,
in all of its unfolding forms.

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