A. Anupama
The grace of starting something new isn’t mentioned all that much, at least, not as much as we talk about the discipline to get started or the inspiration to begin. Maybe it’s because grace is not in our control at all, unlike these other two. I'd like to acknowledge and give credit to grace itself…
A tiny fawn has made a bed for itself next to the stone foundation adjacent to my porch. A week old now, and, tonight, it didn’t spring up when I came outside to water the flower boxes on the railing with my collection of begonias, verbena, dianthus, violet galaxy-streaked petunias, coleus, and mint. We have…
At least it’s beautiful when the feminine divine is completely enraged. Does someone point out the real beauty to us? Will it help us shift into what is good? My cousin sent me this viral video today— a bharatanatyam and hip-hop fusion dance. Laughing and smiling is a good break from roaring. https://youtu.be/Saj65ySCOSo This morning’s…
It’s the season of white wildflowers here: honeysuckle and briar roses and horse chestnut trees in bloom. It’s infuriating, trying to paint them in watercolor. The process requires restraint, a yielding to the blank white of the paper, which is in a way quite the opposite of a writer’s training. But I like the challenge…
Do you remember the classic Tootsie Pop ad with a boy and owl? The question — exactly how much effort would be needed to reach the chewy, chocolatey center — the owl leaves satisfactorily unanswered. That’s the taste of childhood all over: the not-knowing, the sweet cloy of simple wants, the imaginary owl asleep in…
Poems are just like that. A tiny fawn was dashing around the garden this morning. A new friend in the world, I thought while placing stakes around the daisies, which seem set to bloom next week. Also this morning, the tulip poplar started dropping its sunlight-and-saffron-colored petals from the heights. Now in my heart there…
My neighbor has a bonsai forest, which he inherited from a colleague at the New York Botanical Garden. One afternoon over tea with his wife, I painted it like this, with sunlight a slanting gamboge, glazing their petite trunks. I usually think of rooted trees as extensions of earth. Like living mountains. To contemplate a…
WordPress sends me an every-other-day reminder that it’s time to blog here. Okay, I guess I’m the one who set that reminder, but somehow I keep ignoring it, thinking no one is in any mood for poetry midst news of war, rising inflation, challenges to women’s health, election shenanigans, and now yet another horrific mass…
We could have courage, discipline or kindness for dinner tonight, so which’ll it be? They all sound good, right? I’m going with kindness right now. Partly because I have had to serve extra helpings of courage and discipline every night of this whole pandemic, just to get through. How does kindness taste? Is that what…
I wonder if I’m noticing enough, even as I pause over fresh red leaves in the roadside next to the curb. There’s pleasure in writing poems, even breathless with exertion of reluctance. The last robin in our neighborhood to fly away for winter might have gone already, or might not yet. A poem waits and…
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