Cake on the plate.
A peaceful break to sit
with the cake on the plate.
To break sweet bread and share a cup of tea
with friends.
Crumbs will fall.
Maybe on this day I will bake an orange loaf
and give it to my neighbor.
Maybe I will clean my office.
Maybe I will wet the beet pulp pellets for my horses.
The pellets will fall apart under hydration.
Oh, I know I will take feed to my horses.
Their hayful life is good keeping.
What to give away, what to keep?
I ponder this question.
I saw one friend disintegrate,
passed out and found,
passed around and lost.
Another friend seemed to slowly remove
bits and pieces of herself
until she was gone.
Once, when I was ten, a teacher asked the class
how we wanted to die.
Maybe this was an odd thing to do.
Maybe it was brave.
I said I wanted to be there and children laughed.
Of course I would be there,
but I wanted be aware, to participate in the moment,
to bring my curiosity.
How much do we get to choose?
My plan for today:
Make the cake.
Take the horse on a walk. Hoofprints will follow in the sandy soil.
Share thoughts and cookies with my friends.
The crumbs fall away like blessings.
Month: February 2021
Herniated Horsewoman
Gut punched. Stick the knife in and twist it.
I don’t want to spill my guts.
It’s a small tragedy, but it’s mine.
I want to cry and wail
and let the pain go in one massive explosion
then watch the skies clear as dust settles.
My plans were made and I’d saddled my pony,
a practice run for next week.
I thought I saw her looking wistfully at her companions out on the trail.
Desert spring songs are joyously enticing all things nascent.
I figured getting us aging mares out on the trail once or twice a week
would be good for us.

Imagine my disappointment.
It feels like a bodily betrayal, a stab in the soft underbelly, an insult to my intestinal fortitude.
If this is what it takes to bring the tears so be it.
Tears. Tears. Tears. Tears.
You can say it two different ways, you know.
Still, I’d rather pull that pain around and laugh at it
than sit with it.
At the moment it isn’t giving me much of a choice.
You can laugh until you cry.
Platitudes are an easy fallback and distracting.
Trust my gut my ass.