Unexpected Flower

I came across an 

unexpected flower

in my now defunct garden.

And this is the thing of it…

I wasn’t looking for growth, 

I didn’t expect anything more 

than the same same same 

of a garden

left alone. 

Weeds. 

Barren. 

Obviously abandoned.

And I wasn’t even 

looking to look 

at the garden. 

I was going around 

the corner of my house 

and it was there. 

And I commented aloud something like, 

“Whoa” or 

“Hello” or 

“What” 

as if asking the flower 

what was happening.

And I thought about 

what people say…

And goddamn it, 

no one, 

please, 

say these words, 

actually, 

to anyone… 

“When you are not looking”

“When you least expect it”

“Around every corner”...

And then,

around the corner,

when I least expected it, 

where I was not looking, 

I found an unexpected flower.

Yes, there has been growth.

Yes, this is a metaphor.

Yes, there is beauty among 

the very chaos in which 

such loveliness grows.

The Zen Porch

 

I created a space for myself. 

A porch attached to the house 

that was screened in 

and simple

and quiet 

and lovely.

My zen porch. 

My then husband felt

left out 

as there was just

one 

rocking chair 

on the porch. 

One day

my daughter and I 

built two

brand new 

rocking chairs 

so that he would 

know 

that he was 

welcome. 

He sat in that chair 

from time

to time 

over the

years. 

So then I had a space 

that was ours 

in which I sat

alone 

and with the offer 

of company 

always 

present. 

When someone 

else 

took that chair, 

my then husband 

told me 

there was not 

enough 

seating on

the porch 

and 

that if one child 

was sitting

out there, 

there had to be 

enough 

spaces for all 

the children

to sit

out there. 

It was also 

hinted 

that his chair 

was to remain 

his 

own. 

So then I had a space 

that was filled

with anxiety 

where everyone was 

welcome 

and where I was 

afraid 

to go. 

And 

when he moved 

out 

I had a space for myself 

and for 

whoever wanted 

to visit. 

It was very short-lived 

as the porch 

was then 

used 

for leaving the home 

and 

for hiding 

secrets. 

I did not have a space anymore. 

And so I created a space for myself 

on the front porch 

with hammock chairs 

that swung 

this way 

and that. 

It was a wonderful place 

to be 

and where my children 

came 

and went 

and I watched

cats hunt 

and neighbors come home 

and sunsets calm

and rain storms

also calm.

I just missed my old space 

that I created for myself

originally and

organically.

After enough time 

had passed,

after I learned 

to let go

and 

to let be

I created a space for myself

on my side porch 

again. 

I built new chairs 

for me to sit on 

and 

to rock on 

and

whomever else stopped by

could sit 

and

rock, too. 

I built plant stands 

to hold all of my plants 

and my students’ plants 

where I could

care for them

during the summer. 

I put up new 

lights 

and I breathed new 

air 

and the cats

were happy 

to be here 

as they were 

before. 

I have one more year 

on this porch.

And.

I have created 

the space in 

myself 

for 

myself 

and I will take that

with me 

wherever 

I go.

Footsteps

 

How many feet down 

are my footsteps 

embedded 

in this earth, 

in these paths, 

around ponds,

and through the woods? 

Are they now incorporated 

in the crust,

miles deep and 

a decade down?

Stepping out

when things have been

unsteady.

Stepping on roots 

and stones,

crunchy pinecones 

and mossy logs.

 

And my footprints 

are solitary or

once

were followed 

by smaller feet 

and then,

later,

bigger feet. 

My footprints are next

to a friend or,

for a time,

alongside the paw prints 

of a dog,  

as anxious as I,

ready to walk it out 

or 

ready to just remain

with me 

wherever I was going 

because

where I was going

he needed to be

too.

How far down 

do these footprints go? 

How long did I plant them 

when in a panic?

How hard did I pound them 

when I was angry? 

How much did I scar the earth

as I dragged myself

through waking hours 

feeling unsure

I was enough?

This is where I leave my tread:

in the mud 

and the debris 

on these paths 

in the woods.