a ritual to start the work week
Like a sculptor chipping away
at unformed stone to reveal
the masterpiece waiting within,
we spend our days shrieving,
stripping the hurt, lonely layers,
peeling the protective skins fear
believed we needed, pulling off
cloak and shroud and veil to leave
our light unencumbered at last,
shining just as it always has, but
brighter without our shadows
to dim us.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
The world turns green before me.
The path cleared, balance restored,
takes given, gifts taken. Blades
soar! Leaves open doors to new
skins, new cores. Their glittering
shadows reveal more than they
cover: a whisper, a roar.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
“Maybe I can shine, too,”
wonders the child
with a firefly
trapped under glass,
eyes ablaze in possibility.
Yet even as their little hands clasp
those glowing prison walls,
they leave the darkness unplumbed.
Yes, let the light
move you, my loves,
awe you and lead you forward,
but don’t forget
the scared, trapped creature,
that cloud of twitching apprehensions,
who sits in the cavern of your belly,
begging for the rush of fresh air.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Orange light spills
over the horizon,
ending the long sleep
and the cold night:
dawn—the next miracle
—pulling back the shroud,
lifting our voices from us.
Intuition settled and
meditation complete,
an alarm blares,
calling us to action.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Like mission control counting down to launch
or my brain in the morning
daffodils must be this way.
Their nodding buds abuzz
all bustle and hubbub before the bloom
with building energy and final checks.
But ah!
What yawning stillness they must find
what perfect poise
pure potential
their yellow folds must hold
in the breathless moments between one and liftoff.
Milliseconds stretch into minutes and months
miniature winters
waiting to spring.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
They birthed the world
as one but not at once,
the way a newborn is said
to reflect elements of
their lineage — their eyes
a gift from a grandparent,
the way their nose whiffs
of one side and their ears
echo the other — but growth
shows the depths of those
connections as well as
the departures — a new
stride lengthened by
determination, a previously
unseen squint creased by
persistent skepticism. Yes,
the world grew this way, too.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
The flames call me
back to the cave,
the flicker in your eye
an ancient memory.
The trees call me
back to their heights,
their fruit and their roots
urging toward the ground.
The waves call me
back to the depths,
to vastness, to weightless,
to gasping, to sludge.
The clouds call me
forward in their wispy
whispers, incessant pleas
to wish, to “what if…”
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Slick bricks took me down,
now the sun burns unseen ice
straight into vapor.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Flower child feels
with dirt-smeared knees,
their soles stained green
from running through weeds.
Dig, baby, dig!
Seek deeper, know further:
tell the soil’s secrets
with your toil.
Star child blazes
with wide-eyed gaze,
their heart set aflame
by each new day.
Glow, baby, glow!
Shine brighter, go farther:
share the sun’s warmth
with your fun.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
The cool midwinter sun
unwraps a crystalline
morning, the third running.
The only clouds above
puff and whisp from
bundled repairfolks in
buckets, working on wires,
uncrossing them, as it were.
After a waterlogged January
when we could never quite
crawl all the way out
from under our covers
and feel our feet solid
beneath us, February
raised its baton and
called for a crisp, clear C:
tuning us for something
momentous and beautiful,
something practiced yet
fleeting and new.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
