Garden

Garden. Image, my own. May 2026


Flowers

wind-tickled orange California poppies
ruffling out of the window boxes onto the lawn
volunteer aster, knife-thin petals a delicate periwinkle,
tipping out of the ceramic planter onto the sidewalk
white drops of yarrow speckling the back fence line,
crimson-tipped columbine as yellow
as french butter standing in long grass
purple-bloom phlox creeping over the pavers


you know, flowers bloom and grow
where they have not been planted, too
it’s not just the weeds of the world that take
hold and root–out of sorts, out of place–
flowers find themselves in some of the
most improbable places: limen, margin, crack, hole
pockets of forgotten places, like the weed
flowers rest, crack, breath, green, open, bloom, home

Flowers. Wasatch Mountain State Park. Image, my own. May 2026.

Infinite Instant (Value)

Hyper industrialized technocratic capitalism loves stuff– get, earn, buy, show, own = exponential power
Earth teaches that dressing expressly shapes us as we go– shift, season, roll, expand, contract, grow

Your value will never come from what you get, own, amass, pile, stock, hoard, cling
Your value, the infinite essence of you– water, earth, atoms, stardust, synapse, consciousness–

Universe, flashed here, together, for one finite instant– alive and visceral
Power bred of getting only leads to the black hole of eternal indifference

Mom’s Sitting in Cars

She tells me it is one of the few places she can find rest

She sits in the warmth of the Spring sun at the base of the hike

She’ll get out of the car in seven minutes, but, for now, she rests in the green house
of the driver’s seat

Light dances in the long grass, breezes sway the pregnant grass seeds, winds finger
the cat tails

Lace wings, newly hatched, flying ants, and common house flies wind, wind their way
over oak leaf, aspen branch, sweet pea petal, sandstone pebble

Out the window, I look to see if our van has come back after her departure– haste, rage, let-down–
seas of disappointment rush in as she opens the door to the house to go.

She breaks the seal on the silence, the lack of support, the non-existent help.

Into the Clubwagon, her umber hair half-swept from her face.
There’s no other way to describe it. Despair, weighs on her shoulders
Description fails to detail how lonely she really is. Her eyes wide with heaviness.
Now, hours later, she pulls back into the drive. A modern composition of woman,
She sits there. Still. Her face shadowed by the van in the glare of the street light
on the corner. Torn. Caught between love and overwhelm. Between grace and
chores. Holding and letting go. No one is coming to save her. Supporting her family
with a steady pay-check and circles of duty as the house crumbles around her.

I situate my body on the couch in the house like her body in the dark car. Face
forward. Greeting the gulf between every fairy tale and this now.

This is how I begin to understand abandonment.

Learning Love

In the end, it turns out,
love has given us the
power to heal wounds–
ours and our neighbors.
It starts from within,
from sitting with your tender
heart, holding your
Self, with greatest care,
it comes from others, those
who will walk with
Us, sit with us, laugh
and experience joy in
one bubbling, effervescent instant
Love has the power

Gold

Sunset. November. Image, my own.

Beethoven Era

Can you imagine?
Deafness where once was joyous
Sound
Blindness where once filtrations of color-filled light
Ricocheted
Can you imagine?
Losing everything?
If you are human, the guess is, yes
But why must pain catalyze all our understanding? Is it
Truly our only teacher? Isn’t the promise of
Death
Enough to cause us to cling to love, to
Life, to now, maybe not. So maybe we go deaf, blind,
Senseless
Into that good night, into the dark, waiting for
The dawn with breath so small we barely live, sore
Respiration
Reaction, all part of this existence when what we
Thought we wanted most is gone, dematerialized where
Reality is echoed and
Chambered
Oh heart, please, live, please drink the night and day as
A cup of bitter sweetness, lasting but a blink
A piano hammer in the abyss, hammer to string, string
bing, bing, ba-bing, go, boogie,
Be

Gold Nike Shoes. Oakland Museum of California. Image, my own.

Andante

It will never do to keep running
Into yourself if you can’t look up,
Ponder the path of the stars in
The night sky, gaze with longing
And new eyes, on the moon with
Rapture, take in the horizon each
Day and walk into a new lifetime

Light Bulb(s). Image, my own.

Honey

Honey, laughter and green curry are all the #soulfood
I need the joy of bright kaffir lime leaves charged into garlic
and simmered over vegetables, a meal to carry us
through the ages, a gale of fascist hail and bull shit, the
storm of the century is upon us, and all we can do is cook,
sing, and watch the moon as it rises high in the night,
silent observer of her earthly neighbors what a perplexity
what a tragedy, only for a moment, all mixed with joy and
delight, how will we last, how will we survive the fight
join it, gear up, only history knows on this very first calm
snowy night. We hunker in, we knit, we resist like life
depends on it because it does, resistance can be small
nearly silent until the way is clear and that same moon
swims overhead as the path is lit in the quiet dark

Moon. Image, my own.

Orb

In reality
In the body
Black and gray
White and blue
softest aura
Hazing purple
Bold broad
Moon the
Clouds opaled
All around
Stars and sky
Dappled through
and Through
Lord, Bless
Gratitude for
Ohs and glitters
Heavens and Earth
The glory of it
All that lone
Full Moon

Gold. Leaves. Fall. Trees. Image, my own.

Saturday Dreams

A Saturday trio of sweet poems. I hope you have a deliciously lovely day. XX, Megan

—–

What is this place?

This gorgeous sunny
Saturday of possibility
This stillness of warmth
This cradle of rest
I think I’ll stay

—–

First Day

It feels like the
first day

of the rest
of my life

As near-autumn sun
warms my face

The cat licks her soft
tummy and dainty

paws clean near
my thigh

warm, brown sugar
coffee steams in

my hand. The soft
beat of the night

falls aways and I
can revel in the new day

cricket noise dwindles and chirps,
finch, sparrow, flicker

songbirds are chittering from
the branches of an old

cottonwood, the sun soaks
into every port

the first day unfolds
before me

—–

“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.” Ursula K. LeGuinn

Grew Some This Season

As the crepey pumpkin leaves
turn into tiny shards of
brown paper in my hand

I am reminded of the circle
of all things, the beauty and reality
of dust

The empty brown cocoons of the peas,
just husks of the tender
green life-casings they once were

From leaf to vine, now
is the harvest time
the time of gathering in

And this year my garden
blossomed, bloomed, produced
and grew in abundance

Bounty and the bearing of the
fruit remind me that I
too have grown

I am rich with new understandings
new scars, too, yes,
but a seeing, a stillness

A silence that hasn’t possessed
me for a long, long time
in its renewal– peace