i am

i am four chews and a swallow
i am the words and huddled whispers passed across a shared table
i am the nods, the smiles, the anticipation of what's next
i am the darkness, the silence, the match and the dancing flame
i am the chorus of song
i am the drip, slightly off center
i am the wish, the promise, the breath aimed precisely
i am the sweet finger of buttercream,
i am the knife dipped in water, the slow peal of tape, the fast rip of paper
i am surprise, joy, disappointment
i am celebration braced against wax,
dripping year after year
lengthening trail, shortening wick
i am 47 years, carrying multitudes in my cells
i am the drop of a stone in a pond
i am tree rings, ripples
counting
counting on something better to come from my having been here

early morning meditation

My feet flat against the mat, belly rising and falling with my breath. The weight of my legs pressing down. There is heat and a rawness on the soles of my feet, almost as if a layer of skin is peeled away. Not painful but raw. I feel my feet as I breath, layering on the other things I can add to my awareness. The chatter of birds. How many conversations can they have in the span of my one breath? Feet? Yes. Are my toes pressing to the mat? Is there a seam between parts of my sole and the earth where there is only light or shadow? I hold all three - breath, feet, the sounds of birds. Did I lock the car? Would someone notice and steal Marcia's purse if I didn't lock the car? Birds nesting, carrying twigs in their beaks or talons. How is that decided? Is it sorted by size? My feet are still hot. So many songs in one breath. Deep listening. The bird feeds her young. Imagine if we fed each other mouth to mouth. The distance we add by using a spoon to feed our young. Would it be more intimate to use our fingers? Breath full and easy. In and out. How large are the creases and spaces of no contact and how do we bridge them? Feet, breath, bird song. Are they filled with light or shadow?