Posts Tagged ‘Glacier National Park’

I had to disagree with Mary Oliver.

The Writing Room prompt by her was:  “Joy is not meant to be a crumb.”  But there is so much in a crumb so I had to to defend it.

And crumbs reminded me of the pictures of rocks and pebbles that John took when we visited Glacier National Park – and their power to shape the landscape despite their small size.

This poem in a slightly different version – yes, the editors helped me improve it – was published in Plum, the elegant on-line journal of Greenfield Community College.

Ode to the Crumb

The joy is in the crumb:

speck of cheese,

dot of bread,

slivered hint of once pie.

They stir up our hunger,

send a flare down

desire’s dark hole,

invite us to rise up again from here.

A crumb of bird humming

contends, hungry, with the bee.

Green-back glow and the long beak

sneaks into flowers with smooth insertion

until each is entered and emptied.

Crumble at my feet:

sediment raised from below crust;

its billon-year body shifted and smashed

in descending order:








A precise language for the making of crumbs

From the Old English cruma,

a word of obscure origin

traced back to the Latin

gruma, heap of earth.

And here language’s leavings

are larger than we’d dared imagine,

fill our pockets

with bits of earth and bread,

send us forward


our crumbs

& ourselves


Rocks creating pools

Three Crumblike Holes


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Below the Horizon
The observable horizon
is little known, obscured
by everyday movements
but today when I look
there is a small explosion.
I can’t find you anymore.

There are two parts:
surface and depth.
Geese circle a pond,
shift from Vs to Ws.
Three passes before heavy bodies
break surface.
Two geese tip their bodies entirely
disappearing to taste depths.

Could I dip below the horizon?
First, I must press it down on itself,
resolve it to onion-skin thin.
Then unable to resist puncture and push,
I would squeeze my body through
and below you might be waiting.


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Lake Mac Sunset with Boats



By way of the vanishing body

Towards our ends
skin thins, opens up a hint of fire
spun from each cell’s center.
Fingers blush a little
when pressed to another’s palm.
Then begins the vanishing,
that last light leaving
perhaps from the crown of the head.
Surprised, you’ll find a way to follow.
I have no proof to offer
just a fool faith in light remaining,
like the stars in the sky, forever
as our bodies go down to the deep.

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