Open the curtains, let the light in And the comforting knowledge that the robin couple Is finding breakfast under the squash blossoms Coffee grounds in the filter–wafers in the paten Breathe in Steamy, caffeinated incense And this sacred moment of wild hair, morning breath And peace

I found a place On the forest floor Where nobody knows me I lay myself down Upon an altar Of good earth Hum of bees Murmuring water Rustling leaves  I lie perfectly quiet Until My limbs grow roots That reach Deep, deep down Drinking The center Of the universe I climbed to this place Long before dawn Clawing Sliding Bloody knees And darkness And I began to lose Pieces of me Chainmail Cherished shards Of glass Luminous scales Mesmerizing Collected Hoarded Through the years Twisted, tied with Bits of twine And ratchet straps Of iron will But The climb could not bear The Sisyphean Weight Of my armor Blue and yellow bits Of expectations Fell among The daffodils And my life’s work Floated away All purple On the ripple Of a mountain stream The black directives Of old men  In steepled houses I hurled From a precipice As the sun Began to rise Grey light of dawn I am here now Only my center Naked On the earth All my armor Broken Scattered Gone I sleep and wake And sleep again And find A...

We get double scoops of ice cream, just because we can To taste it on our tongues for longer  we say To celebrate tracing paths of stars Laying on our backs on Lookout Rock Surrounded by fireflies And the possibility of magic Mother & daughter No bedtimes now And only double scoops We dish the tea with our morning coffee Trading tastes of past sorrows and new sunshine The old rules slink out the back door As we stretch our limbs, svelte and luxurious In new skins that fit us better now And order tarts before salad Mother & daughter Dessert before lunch And only nuances now We spend a whole day doing the nothings Enshrined in shared cells and a thousand memories Hunting through stacks of old books And chatting with white-haired ladies selling clunky jewelry At the thrift store down the street We barely noticed we crossed a bridge of twenty-two years On the way home Mother & daughter Twenty-two years apart And now we’re friends

   As a midwife, one of the things people most often say to me is "you're so lucky: you get to play with babies every day".  Of course this brings to mind visions of what this "play" actually looks like--moans, sweat, and always so much blood. And yes, in the end I sometimes do get to run a finger over a soft, downy baby head while the mother basks in her oxytocin-glow of victory.  But if all goes to plan, my interaction with babies rarely goes much beyond that. If you are a midwife, who you really love is women .   I have been a woman for over forty-six years now, I have four sisters and three daughters, and have worked with women and heard their stories for twenty-five years.   And today I want to tell you something I have learned about women: Women rise. They do.  They can get out of a bloody birth pool, rinse the sweat off, laugh, and nurse their newborn.  They heal their bruises, find a way out of the abuse, and start a new life.  They c...

Sometimes love is Oxygen You don’t know it is there Because it has never Been gone Love was Saturday morning Hair tangled  In my sister’s Beside me On the bed Sun streams Through the window Dust glitters And dances in the light At the smell of sausages And the sound of my mother’s  Gentle voice I was beautiful Because I was alive Love was A candle  That went unnoticed  In a room full Of light *** Sometimes love is A silhouette of hope Drifting on black wings  Away, far away  From me Love was Try harder; pray more Be worthy To exist But ever falling, ever sinking Buried.  Darkness, underground Then slowly fading…fading Deep away From the air and sun and light And from the birds The birds Wheeling, rising Free I was beautiful “If” and “but”--the fine print ever changing Love was An ember Shielded in the dark Craving flame *** Sometimes love is The rising sun I’ve known the darkness And I’ve seen The morning come Love is Sunday morning Laughing voices Cof...