lilacs re-leaf, re-bloom
in October
hummingbird moths feed,
and simultaneously,
She’s un-be-coming a human be-ing
She’s destined to,
we’re destined to, too
no
need to
tell me, explain
what’s happening
as constant witness,
as constant, remote witness to slaughter,
as constant gardener,
as constant tender,
as constant daughter,
i see.
i recognize.
i know,
Continue reading “phenology II”if you’re seeing this, you’re alive,
though dying — no matter your age, health, relative safety, relative comfortability —
on this living, though suffering and actively dying, planet
Earthlings and Earth together in a protracted hospice
right now, in these brief years, these grief years,
we are the “ever-living ghosts of what once was”
a “was” that most all of us alive this morning have never known as lived experience — save for the untouched tribes — 10,000 Uncontacted Peoples — 10,000 unsystematized, “uncivilized”
and the Ocean, and the few, still-standing Ancient One Trees; the untouched Desert, and the Mountains — even the youngest of them — The Tetons and The Himalayas, know what it “was” to be alive.
we are mere ghosts, walking dead.
i offer purple bouquets
rooted in the ground,
not dying, wasted, in vase or pot
this purple
reflected in your eyes, my eyes
monarchs married in our october gaze
we’re not long for this world, we, monarchs, asters, and crone
still, we feast, without any gluttony, waste or fear
one of us, prepares for honeymoon flight to Mexico
where marigolds and death await
later, birds with bellies filled by aster, will seed a known, unknown future
crone’s eyes full and clear, she sees it all, near and far, past, present, future, winter and spring
she is rooted too, laughing and grieving in the threshold
between death and the future, future and the death
between remnant wild and final ravagement
between time and anti-time
thousands of purple petals cascade from her crown chakra like asters //
Continue reading “asters, monarchs & crone”another part of mourning, an enduring part of mourning:
the loss of the “institutional knowledge” of you that they alone held, documented and archived;
when
a life-long, childhood or early adulthood friend
a beloved mother, or grandmother, or father,
a harmonious sibling, a close cousin
a long-time lover,
a partner in a long marriage, officiated — or not
a child whom you birthed or raised and who may have also birthed or raised you, have mercy.
when, those relationships become one-sided through death — or other endings,
not only are they gone,
Continue reading “institutional knowledge”
Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón
born 6th of July 1907
died 13th of July 1954
Coyoacán, Mexico City, Mexico
it may feel
tenuous
so much of this seems predicated on phantom 1s, zeroes, grids & presidents
remember what is true, what is real
a deer ambling into the bramble of an overgrown blueberry patch
at last light
a trail of fireflies sparkling behind her like a golden bridal veil
there are deer, there are fireflies, there are blueberries, still
children around your table, grandchildren or a dog underfoot
cotton and wool
flint, boots,
a cache of seeds, oils, a pantry full of grains and beans, bundles of dried herbs, a cellar of roots
a deep well, a spring, or a stream and some vessels
steel, wood, stone, charcoal
pictographs, petroglyphs
cell-deep stories
strings, drums, flutes
a few poems — memorized, recited, improvised
hands near your own as you
birthe, work, live, fight, grieve, survive — and then die
and right now, in this exact moment
Continue reading “tenuous”recipe and method for feeding a baby starling
recipe:
one-half of a medium-boiled large egg, super finely diced
3-4 sardines canned in water, with all the bones and skin, gingerly rinsed under a thin stream of tap water, to remove excess salt, laid atop a paper towel
to passively drain the water,
then, finely chopped
mash sardines and egg together,
then slowly add up to 1 teaspoon of unsweetened organic apple sauce,
the mash should be integrated and mostly smooth
but not too wet or runny
store in sealed glass container refrigerated for no more than 2.5 days
(increase to whole boiled egg and full can of sardines and extra applesauce — and increase mash chunkiness as bird grows)
to feed:
fill a plastic drinking straw with the food,
by pumping the straw up and down into the mash with suction
warm the filled straw in hand while wearing a disposable glove to bring the mash close to room temperature
gently but quickly eject tubes/ribbons of mash into baby bird’s mouth as she gapes for food - like toothpaste on toothbrush almost; it’s daunting at first; she is so demanding! so loud! so urgent!
so hungry!
she will stop gaping when full
wash straw and reuse
(DQ & Five Guys straws are wide, flexible and work best)
repeat feeding every half hour, then eventually every hour or so, about 300 times over the course of next three weeks
to thrive:
during that time create and whistle to her a short, 3-4 note, unique song to recognize your voice
love her, talk to her,
encourage her, comfort her,
and hold her, carry her outside to see the world she will soon enter
also during that time: bring her small worms, slugs and insects to taste and/or eat / you will need to manually reduce them to be digestible for her, at first
then teach her to forage and hunt for them herself; she will use her beak as a shovel to unearth them and poke at and sever them with her beak;
watch her back while she’s busy doing this - be her wingman!
she will teach herself to bathe and sun, fluff, dry and preen
one day she will hop, sputter-fly into the grass, into the garden; into the bramble or tall grasses
then, she will fly and soar - high into the trees, beyond your reach, sight or protection
you will worry about predators and bird bullies, weather, machines, injury and hunger
you will listen for her voice
and whistle and call for her
sometimes you will hear her;
but she will always hear you; she knows your face, form, voice and song
she will still come home for supplemental feeding
she will still come home to sleep in her nest box inside the barn overnight because being a baby bird alone in the world - is exhausting
being a mother bird, even moreso
she will come back, again and again.
she is just pure joy.
she is pure trust.
you are so lucky to have experienced her first weeks of life
you rescued her; but she has restored you, in fact.
please know,
always remember, and never forget:
every bird you see, every wild mammal you see, they all initially survived because of a very devoted mother
i recently binged the biography:
“The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet” by life-long Plath scholar Julia Gordon-Bramer
i feel fortunate this book was my introduction to Plath and her poet husband, Ted Hughes— and other significant influences in her life and poetry /
hat tip to my long-time favorite podcast: Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio — created and hosted by Miguel Conner at The Virtual Alexandria for interviewing Gordon-Bramer, because, for the first time ever, i was actually interested in Plath — and furthermore, i unexpectedly experienced a psychic “something” with Plath while listening to the audiobook; this “something” — i want to digest, explore – and possibly explain, in detail, in a future essay //
while i imbibed this book, i was simultaneously raising an injured and orphaned starling nestling — on an intensive feeding schedule — and during this time, i learned from the book, that Sylvia and Ted also attempted to rescue an injured and sick baby bird — but after a week, and upon determining rehabilitation was futile, they jointly and sadly euthanized the bird in their gas oven (i know. wow.) ///
Continue reading “Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes”if you move out of the city
if you move into the country
if you reclaim a meadow
if you plant more than two dozen trees
if you oppose paving the dirt road
if you fill ten bird baths, every single day, until they freeze
if you refuse to mow the clover, plaintain, and dandelion before they set seed
if you sit in silence on the stoop each night, watching
if you turn off every single light before bedtime
if you listen, listen, and listen
if you offer your attention
if you humble your human brain
if you embrace your animal body
if you fall into instinctual kinship
if you are ceaseless in your reverence
if you follow your intuition
maybe the crows will tell their brethren you’re a safe one
maybe the doe will bring her fawns to the salt lick during daylight
maybe the snake will slither under the workbench in the barn while you stand there
maybe the rabbits won’t flee your garden at your footfall
maybe the bats will dance in the twilight sky just above your head
maybe the luna moth will reveal herself to you in that meadow
Continue reading “maybe on the full moon”says they call her out by her name
a version of this foto essay was first published
April 2019
Spring is life.
A mother rabbit birthed at least three bunnies in a niche of the house – enclosed on three sides with only a northern mossy exposure – mostly safe and hidden from owls, hawks and coyotes. They nibble on young dandelion and clover leaves. They are joy.
My one and only baby’s very first Easter and Spring. A surprise of daffodils under a white oak tree at our first house and home on Grace Street in Chicago. Mother, son, full of grace.
I don’t know where the stuffed white rabbit with pink, acrylic eyes and pink, satin ears came from — exactly. But I’ve had it forever, before memory, so I pretend that it was presented to the baby girl born in late October, just before Halloween. Or gifted to the baby girl on her first Easter. Or won for the toddler girl at her first carnival.
Before I was a mother to a boy, I — an only child — was a teenaged auntie to a beautiful boy named +Tony+ [Giovanni Anthony Martinez] born in Spring 1986. I learned from him that I might become a mother to a son one day even though I was sure I was meant only to be a mother to a daughter. And that, was a wonderful revelation.
happy saturday afternoon.
i am making a marinara, but i may pivot and make it a vegan bolognese, served over bucatini or vegan mushroom or eggplant ravioli.
i haven’t yet decided — while children are being genocided
by intentional starvation
in Gaza, Palestine.
there is famine in Sudan. And Congo. And Ethiopia, too.
how is this real life?
in 2024, while The World can watch from their screens. while knowing there is enough food in The World for all of them.
yet, here, i am deciding: between listening to a podcast about one of my favorite fellow outer-ruralers, Ted Kaczynski (the irony is not lost) — or, a pandora station mashup of caamp and uncle lucius – both bands, i first learned of from time with my son in wondrous and humbling wilderness landscapes and cozy lodging — or, continuing my Clarissa Pinkola Estes audio book the Power of the Crone Myths & Stories of the Wise Woman Archetype //
so many choices for dinner, intellectual stimulation or joy while i am safe and warm and mostly, whole.
how does this dichotomy exist?
that is rhetorical.
i feel the grief of helplessness most acutely when i am in the grocery store shopping for food and while i am preparing and cooking food — the most basic of human tasks //
this is a foto of golden-rosy light shining on the snow-covered meadow that i have the immense privilege to nurture, protect and observe, on land i occupy — at Sun’s peaceful, not violent, rise this morning — the precious snow all melted by afternoon
Crone tip :
when you glimpse the blaze of golden-rosy light, you must act instantly:
get to the window, get outside, with or without an artificial lens or shoes — because the glow is gone in less than minutes.
Human Earthling tip:
when you glimpse a genocide and famine you must act instantly:
you must speak out, loudly; you must resist in all possible ways; you must refuse to look away as you live life; you must do something, anything, to try and stop it; you must do anything, something to try and help other Earthlings; you must resist and “refuse to be an accomplice to genocide.”
Our World sits just outside of Gaza, of Palestine. We are All in the zone of interest, right now.
Continue reading “is this real life: zone of interest”for all the demons, monsters and liars,
today and always, everywhere:
good afternoon:
i feel like i should have started my heirloom tomato and chiltepin seeds on New Year’s Eve, but i haven’t even ordered or sorted seeds yet;
that I should’ve picked up a bottle of mineral facial sunscreen and given myself a pedicure yesterday;
that the swimsuits overwhelming retail spaces are not for spring breakers and resort goers but for anyone headed to North Avenue Beach in Chicago or Silver Beach in Michigan today;
and that i wish i didn’t know that the Thwaites Glacier is hanging on by fewer and weaker pinning points;
do you respect or even revere military service? i know many of you certainly do/
Continue reading “an open letter on a 65°f primary election day in Michigan | day 145 of Israel’s acute genocide of the Palestinian People”
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 