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Another way

Pippi Longstocking is a guide.

She sits in the porch, welcoming and wise at the threshold.

Sometimes it feels like there's no choice.

I've been looking at decisions.

Does this make sense?


The daily, hourly choices hardly noticed, the turns that shape a day –

when I know it's better to do something else

before the light’s gone. Or let go into writing or making.

The woad leaves I chopped yesterday and played at dye.

It’s time to clear up, when the poem’s done.


The bigger tangles lurk

in the mind,

in the muscles,

wait for an opening.


A move to Bristol

began with a day trip

and ended with a life change.

The month’s retreat. In the last hour of the last night

I watched the full moon, knew what should happen,

then made it real in weeks.

Someone I love told me

we had to go, today,

and we went, today.


There’s a shift in my body –

no lists of pros and cons,

nothing sensible,

but it all makes sense.

I’ve been changed, of course,

life happens -

diagnoses, loves,

my son’s too-early death.

There are even choices in the face

of what’s Impossible to bear.


Discomfort, attention, shift,

when I let in the possible

there’s release.

Nothing to consider except how,

and maybe who might help.


Yesterday an unexpected shift arrived

between a meeting and a book

and it will stay

until it doesn’t.


Exhilarated almost.

Satisfied, and

ready to clear up.

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