You Are Beautiful.

You are beautiful.
Without question –
Without caveat –

– Beautiful.

Feel the ways you sing,
how the songs of your life force
pour from your skin.
Feel the ways you shine,
how the lights of your life force
emanate from your eyes.
Feel the ways you show up,
how the arcs of your life force
shape and swirl the air around us.

You are beautiful.
Without question –
Without caveat –

– Beautiful.

In the face of constriction you sing
In the face of hypocrisy you shine
In the face of injustice you show up,
you shape the air around us every – single – time.

You are beautiful.
Without question –
Without caveat –

– Beautiful.

This poem is your mirror
This poem is your face
This poem is you
And your body is its vase.

There are SO – MANY – WAYS –
to be beautiful.

You are all of them.

Beautiful.

Without question –

Without caveat –

– Beautiful.

Photo by Anthony ud83dude42 on Pexels.com

An Open Poem to My Oldest Son: In Conversation Around How to Live in These Present Moments

Your purpose is to love – and be loved –
You are beloved –
The beloved –
Just like every –
last – one –
of –
us

Your Existence is Gift
Your Joy is Mine
Your Happiness is Everyone’s
Who stands beside you

This is how you do healing
in this world –
You keep on
BEING
YOU.


This poem was written the day after my 21-year-old and I discussed our current moments living in this world, the wide and narrow aspects of global, societal, and cultural dynamics of our fellow human beings, both far and close, the push and pull of human nature around safety and security from the beginnings of Time and the beginnings of Story and Myth. He is one of the great joys and gifts of my life and I learn from him more than I learn from any of my credentialed teachers backward and forward across time. He came to me through the portal of my own body, and I watch him in wonder as he makes his way through this human life.

This poem holds some of what I told him toward the end of our conversation, as well as some of the thoughts I experienced driving to work the next morning, listening to a song he sent me: Bottle of Advil by Julia Wolf. (Here you go: Bottle of Advil)

When the written version of this poem came pouring out of me through pencil on blue paper I thought of Rumi, and then Emily Dickinson.


I’m sharing it here because it feels salient. I didn’t know the second definition of salient as a piece of fortified land projecting outward and being exceedingly vulnerable until just this moment when I searched its meaning. I’ve noticed that so many of our words and phrases grow out of military language, and I’ve intentionally avoided as many of those as possible throughout my time as a writer. I almost changed the word salient above to something like “valuable” to avoid the warring association, but I decided to leave it in. It feels salient. And rightly vulnerable.


May you be well,

A.


After I photoed the poem and published this post, I went outside to the morning fire. I slid the blue-lined paper with the blue-lined words into the open space between the pyramid of logs. It flashed yellow and transformed to white ash in an instant, then dissolved above the melty-orange coals, a new energy.