Earthquakes

A series of thoughts and little poems in praise of shaking things loose

Sometimes, when I get tired of my linear, orderly, worry-filled thoughts, I sink into poetry mode. It’s like downshifting into a rich, combustable power, the opposite of safe and orderly. Today’s a good day to play with this in honor of April’s National Poetry Month.

Or, like the conversation I had with my love last week.

“I’m feeling a little tired of my own thoughts.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “You’ll eventually get over yourself.”

Poetry is a luscious, sumptuous way of getting over yourself. I highly recommend it.

---

Earthquakes

I've forgotten my shoes
but I creep to where you
are morning sitting,
your chair rooted
into lava stone, the jungle
vine draped, a woven sky
of lizards and sea wind.

I read you my words
wet like new birth
and your attention
is focused so 
succulent sharp on me
that I forget 
how to speak.

There is movement
beneath my bare feet,
a ground-swell roll
that I mistake
for uncertainty, mine
always mine, the question.
The tree-creak sways,
the high fronds tap
together like code.

This is more than me.
Nothing is stable.

As the dirt moves
my body vibrates.
The ground groans up.

I always thought
an earthquake would
stop me, frozen,
but I drop my notebook
to the shaking ground,
delighted, my words
forgotten, my mouth
open, no meaning,
only movement.

---

Small Quakes

As I woke up this morning, it felt like my whole body, my entire nervous system, was vibrating. I thought — who is shaking this bed?

It was me.

I breathed and leaned into it. I was on the edge of panic about it, but thought — why do this? It’s not going to help or change anything.

Like learning the ways of the extrovert, accepting what is and comforting my own self are skills that I’ve amassed through vigilant and careful study.

For a moment, I thought it was an earthquake.

Maybe it was a download. I’ve reached next level.

Whatever it was, I know that the subtle vibration was so much better than spinning out into panic.

Maybe this download will bring me new powers.

Can you read my mind?

---

Spring Shakes Loose

If the weekend were a poem
it would be green bright,
leaf-binged, draped 
like wisteria ghosts.
Spring happens fast,
like it was always here
and I just found it.

This week I’ve given myself permission to not carry the weight of responsibility for neat, orderly, presentable thoughts.

I’m giving myself permission to eventually get over myself.

Maybe the download, the super power, is luxuriating in the acceptance of what is.

The new leaves and the moving earth agree.