On Overcast Days

On overcast days
when each twig is distinct
against an underbelly sky,
when a tree is a weed
crowding out the others,
thirstily sucking minerals 
up and away,
to feed stone cold life,
to crowd the others out
on another day,
and cars throw up mud
and two people are fighting
at a bus stop –

I know
in the lonely twists
of my gut,
the world I thought I knew,
where I could touch
something
where we knew
one another
and where anyone could love
anything,
is a mirage fading
past the rain.

Then some metaphysical speck
of my mechanical mind
resists:
some strange neurons
stop and listen
against all odds,
small heads tilted to the left
as the sound of protest
works up through the blood
in hot turbulence traveling,
sparking them to flame and fire,
so that I know better:

Thanks to that part of me
I remember a dream:
Two alien purple plants
half anemone, half tree
each alone
on two towering sand-tops facing –
somehow facing without faces –
one another,
long branch arms waving,
greeting, longing to touch.
Unable to touch (of course)
but listing inward,
they create in the space between
a something real
even before the violet
sprouts in the valley.

I believe
anything human, perhaps even
anything animal
or plant, or even
the water, which is moving,
and the always precious stones –
for who is to say
the mountains lean not
away from the wind
but into one another,
great and lumbering shoulders
closer in companionship –
we share this dream.

The wild faith
is manifest
in the ranges,
in the flocks,
in the herds,
in the churches,
in the nations,
in the families we make.
We hold one another,
and we hold this up
as evidence.

But the tangible
is not what matters.
Or rather it is unnecessary
to prove it. The shared dream
is at the root of it all,
the thought is between us,
and, though unfathomable,
it is also
a something real.

Video

What I Learned From My Father

Email from Ellie to Faffy:

hey pop!

been reading lots of poetry lately, found some "nature poets" i REALLY like -- wendell berry and mary oliver. got me in a poetry mood. i wrote something about/for you, but be forewarned i wrote it all today so its not perfect and will probably undergo some revisions!

What I Learned From My Father

I admit it.

I was a petulant and greedy child,

wanting more attention and

also wanting more things,

in particular wanting

more than my sister had.

I always wanted more

of my father’s praise,

which is not to say there was not enough.

I always had a sense of worth.

My father taught me the words

“dingleberry” and “flatus,”

and how to be silly.

He named for me

many things: lightning bugs,

wiffle balls, vanilla cones,

and pointed out the names of sailboats.

Ours was Pegasus.

I think of him when I see

handmade playhouses, or hear

the sound of windchimes, or

a southern accent, or

the phrase “run aground.”

He explained what it means

to be an atheist.

He taught me to feel peaceful

when I look at a tree, and that

helped me feel the prayer

of leafy limbs stretched upward.

My father taught me

to “pick a little, eat a little”

of vine-warm blackberries,

and of cobbler’s bursting tang.

That a day is not wasted,

wandering and meandering

through the woods.

He taught me that imagination could create

Herman the Ant at bedtime.

He taught me the casual joy of art, that

it is allowed

to bring out the rarely used and imperfect

talent. Once a year, maybe,

he would bring out his “real” art supplies.

He made us Mickey Mouse pancakes,

snowmen and fir trees painted

on the windows at Christmas.

We spent hours on his father’s lawn,

banging croquet balls through wickets.

I learned the wicked glee

of shooting an opponent’s ball off-course.

My father taught me how to compete,

and how to play.

How to be a bear

for your children to ride on, and

how to give good bear hugs

when the growls get too scary.

He taught me to have high standards.

To do extra homework.

My father learned from his father

what it means to be honest,

when it is the right thing to do,

why to do it.

My father taught me,

with his stable of bikes

with studded tires and pogies, to

be prepared to be adventurous.

I learned that pride is

what I feel when

I think about him.

He taught me what is valuable.

He always wanted

handmade gifts (or none at all).

He taught me patience and true love –

loving when you don’t want to,

when they might not deserve it,

when she’s pulling her sister’s hair.

He gave me the gift of pessimism,

and a sense of futility.

I remember I was frightened at first

when I saw the familiar face crack, eyes wet,

reading a poem about the passage of time.

Pondering what may come, and

what is certain to come,

he taught me to share his awareness

of what we once had –

when we were little,

before Aunt Betty died –

and what we have now

to lose.

I picture his shoulders bowing with weight

I wish I could carry for him,

but his thoughts are still

heavy and mysterious,

I still feel a sapling to his oak.

I have added to that weight

in the past, I have disappointed him.

I have complained

that we are not close,

that our relationship feels fragile, sometimes,

that we are not who I want us to be.

It is a nameless frustration,

a nameless need unmet.

I still can’t find the words

to strengthen us or even

to acknowledge it or even

to tell him how I love him,

that I admire him,

how much I miss him even

though I never say it.

But this, I know:

when I look at my son and

I see my father,

it is my turn

for wet eyes and pondering, and

I want it to be true.

Collecting children’s books,

I try to find every one

he ever read to me, and

I try to remember

every story he ever told

so I can retell it all

to my son.

Email from Faffy to Ellie:

Ellie,

I am touched, truly, by your poem and by the tears in my eyes.  Thank you.  Having a child is one of life's most profound experiences.  Don't you agree?

Love, Pop

Email from Ellie to Faffy:

definitely agree... having a child is amazing. to be more precise, having a THEO is amazing. :)

and im really glad that you were touched!

love,

ellie


Email from Mom (Monkey) to Ellie:

Oh.My.God. I just read your poem and I still have tears in my eyes and on my cheeks. I think it's absolutely beautiful. It should be shared. I'm curious to know if other people, who don't share our life experiences, would find meaning in it. I'll bet they will, if you share it. But I am so proud and amazed to know that something so beautiful, so meaningful, can spring from our own flesh and blood. 

We love you, even when (actually partly because) you write poetry that makes us cry.

Mama

PS I don't ever want to see a poem that describes me. haha.

Email from Ellie to Mom (Monkey):

aww, im really glad that it meant so much to you guys. its hard to know sometimes, especially when its 2:30am! :)

um... why dont you want to see a poem that describes you?

i gots big love for you too you know. :)

love,

ellie

Email from Mom (Monkey) to Ellie:

I know you do. But I'm afraid it would describe my prickly, nagging, yelling, angry interactions with my kids. It'd be funny though. I'm the disciplinarian, the organizer, the hardass--hard to get teary-eyed and wistful about that sort of person!

But the one good thing about me is that I picked the best father for my kids possible. 

Love you

Mama

Email from Ellie to Mom (Monkey):

you're dead-wrong, mom. that is NOT the first thing i think about when i think of you. and i have just as many fond memories and reasons i love you as i do for pop.

im GLAD that we've had angry interactions -- well, glad that we communicate, anyway. it can be hard for me to talk to pop.

and i get teary-eyed thinking about how much i love you, too.

my relationship with pop (and with you) is far from perfect... but thats not what love is about!

I'm Making a Family Poetry Book

Email from Ellie to Erica:

hey erica. would you mind emailing me whatever poetry you have of your moms? especially "in praise of earl grey."

also any poetry that you like or have written...

im making a family poetry book! :)

love,

ellie


Email from Erica to Ellie:

hi ellie - i don't have any of her poetry online or on my computer.  i'm planning on going over to my dad's house this sunday to work on the art room, and while i'm there i will see what hard copies i can track down, and either re-type them for you or find someone with a scanner.  sounds like a neat project!

love you,
erica
p.s. are you including any of your own poetry in the book?  if so can you send it to me?  i'd love to have a sample :)
p.p.s i've been reading my mom's journals, and it's been really, really intense.  lots of emotions.  this morning i read the journal entry she wrote about my birth.


Email from Ellie to Erica:

thats insane, reading the journal entry about your birth... im sure THAT journal (pregnant, while you're little) at least is very focused on you, and how much she loves you. tough stuff, but so nice to have, too -- i would imagine?

as for the family poetry book, im putting a lot of mary oliver, wendell berry, marge piercy -- poets i really like. not any of my own (yet, we'll see.)

:)

i wish i could help you with the project of finding your mom's poetry... no worries if waits for awhile.

also -- if you have any poetry i want that too.

much love,

ellie

ps i also did this other project recently -- i collected all the tree art i could find on the internet, pastels, watercolor, oil, crayon, photography -- picked out my favorites, and created a photo book online of what i liked best. dedicated to your mom, of course. im excited to show it to you, its REALLY beautiful and cool. (i feel like i can say that since i had little to do with the actual creation of it, i just threw other peoples' art together.) i love the internet.

Email from Erica to Ellie:

ooo, that tree art project sounds really neat!  i'd love to see it.  i have written a poem or two in my day but i'm not sure i want it next to those other poets...

Email from Ellie to Erica:

yeah thats pretty much how i feel (about mine i mean!)

i miss you....

been thinking a lot lately about (trying to) really show appreciation for everyone i love.

i love you dearling friend!! thank you for being someone that i can expose myself to. literally and figuratively, hehe. other than dan. i dont know. its not the same. you're special.

you're awesome and i love you and i hope it doesnt weird you out that im obsessed with your mom. im more obsessed with you. :)

mwah!!

much love,

ellie

Email from Erica to Ellie:

I love it that you're obsessed with my mom.  I'm glad that someone else understands on some level what an amazing lady she was and how tragic it has been to lose her.

reading her journals is sort of dominating my mind and heart right now.  my mom struggled with a lot of stuff, and i see so many of my own struggles reflected in what she writes.  she wrestled with more demons than you might think.  and there's also the nice stuff about me being a cute baby and her loving me a lot.

I love you so much!  Thanks for being brave enough to expose yourself to me.  I will always hold all of your dark, soft secret parts with the utmost respect cuz I know you do the same for me.  That was not supposed to sound dirty.

Love love love,
Erica

Another Silly Song

We Both Love You (To the tune of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Someone to Care For)

Don't be a sad man

Or a mad Dan

We both love you!

He tries not to cry or

Make a mess so why

Won't you cuddle him?

We were two

Now we're three

And still a happy family!

We two

Love you

And you love us, too!

Hey Lil Man

Email from Ellie to Teddy:

Hey Lil Man, 

It feels weird to write to you now, because we communicate so much already even though its all nonverbal. You smile up at me, happily bounce around in your Johnny Jump-Up, love long walks in the stroller so long as you can see the world, and laugh your head off when I say "boo!"

Your personality is already shining through so much, and I love it -- I love YOU! You have such a great sense of humor. You are willing to laugh whenever something is funny, or even make us laugh with your antics. When you're tired, your face scrunches up and you get all upset, you really want "help" falling asleep. So I cuddle you up on my shoulder, give you tons of kisses, and you often fall asleep there with one little arm wrapped around mine. You are so sweet, and the cutest, nicest baby there ever was.

Boy are you a good eater, too. You love your rice cereal meal every night, chow down like a champ, and then peacefully sleep in the co-sleeper right next to our bed for 6, 7, even 8 hours a night because you're awesome like that.

I love having all this time to spend with you. I don't know how I am going to spend so much time apart from you when I start law school in the fall.

You're the sweetest and I love you to bits, I can't wait to keep getting to know you over the years and see how you grow.

Love always,

Mommy