THE THREAD | Maybe . . .

Maybe
       we backpedal upward 
       an arc bending off toward
       the boulders we lean 
       our burdens against onward

Maybe
       a rescue or abandon
       refusal or acceptance
       revelation or acquiescence
       in the nick or knot of such dark time

May
       your tenderness
       in notch and warp
      above below behind before
      within manger-sleep deeply hold 

May your tenderness hold firm
      such tenderness

Whatever it is you are celebrating this holiday season, I hope it involves giving gifts. I wouldn’t say I’m the best shopper. I don’t think giving gifts is one of my love languages. But I’m a bit obsessed with generosity in its many forms. We’re wired to dig into deeper wells and find new sources of life to share with one another. And giving in its many forms is the most simple reminder that life itself could be otherwise, or not at all. It’s not a given. It IS given. It’s a gift.

The gift I like giving most is books.

I could be wrong or totally silly or whatever, but I think books still matter.

Books are transmitters of stories and ideas, hopes and dreams, impossibilities and absurdities. Books are solid like rock yet illuminating like sunlight.

All that to say: I’ve written a couple of books. I think they make great gifts. If you’re so inclined to buy a few of my books to give as gifts this holiday season — well, I don’t want to stand in your way. You can purchase them on my website HERE.

I’m giving a poetry reading tonight. If you’re free, come by!