Poetry - 2005

Calendar Dates
After the memorial service for Larry Gaffin
Vicki Robin
July 1, 2005

Years pass
One by one
Dates become "the time when...
He was born
She died
We met
You left
I swam in the ocean naked at dawn."
Even now,
When that day rolls around,
I feel a chill
Pegging skin to bone
Goose-bump quills fending off the water
As cold as spears of ice,
And taste again brine and freedom.

Entire weeks fill with remembrance
When we took that trip up north, just the two of us
When I sat in the woods without food, calling out for my soul
When Christ died on the cross and was resurrected.

The taste of whole seasons becomes richer
As the complex flavors simmer year after year
Summer becomes...
Dappled light
Roasting heat
Swimming pools, ponds, holes, beaches
Grilled meat
Naked arms
Chilly basements
Snoozing
Walks in the merciful cool of the evening
Fresh picked tomatoes that just rolled out of bed with the sun
Flowers pulling out all the color and fragrance stops
Overwhelming our ability to name anything
Every summer tastes this way... And more

Dates fill as a life ripens
The soul seed awakens
Hungry to root and branch and be
It's very vigor cracking the hard shell of linear time
Sweet flesh yields its juice, then
Wrinkles
Pulls away from the pit
Shrivels
Becomes nothing
All those dates, it seems
Simply food for that invisible issue
For that other life carried inside
A life that’s melon-round and full of living.

* * * * * *

To build a house

Vicki Robin
September 23, 2005
For Terri and Tom to bless their foundation


First, find the place where you will build.
To do this, ask, “Where do I belong?”
Ask, “Is this where I can live my days in joy and die in peace?”
Imagine you can hear your ancestors – those who knew your mother’s mothers mother – say “Yes”.
Then say yes.

Sit naked in this spot
Send your ancient tail down, down, down into the earth
Dowsing for the truth of the land and your belonging
Ask, “Who are my neighbors?”
Ask, “How will I get what I need in this place?”
When your breath comes easy,
When the community you’ve entered has said, “Yes, we will feed you,”
Then you can plan your house.

Walk the land, feeling where you like to stand at sunrise,
Where your feet go when you think, “Food.”
The sun on your back when you labor will bind you to this place.
The breeze that rises from the valley at sunset will freshen your linens for sleep.

Let the house grow around you like a bowl arising from a potter’s hands
Be hollow. Respond.
Go from beetle to fir tree to stone making friends
“Hello. How are you today?”
You’ll call out cheerily on your morning rounds.
Need anything from town?” you’ll ask these neighbors
Many of whom will never leave this place you’ll call home.

Paths will develop through this walking.
Soon you’ll know where the house’s walls and doors and windows should be.
Where they already are.
Only then, call in the architect and draw up the plans
Only then, call in the builders and build you a house.

Today is not the beginning. That was years ago. Perhaps before you were born.
Next year it will not be finished. That will never happen. Just one day you will move in and
Year after year your whole clan will make merry and merry and merry
And your neighbors the ferns and salal will feel safe in your presence
And you will belong.