The blog will be quiet for the next few days. I’m off tomorrow morning at 6 am to ride an airplane; I’d be nervous but now I know Loudon checks them over for me.

Be well.

The new issue of Mid-American Review is up and it celebrates a number of firsts for me: I’ve never been in a journal consecutively, never more than twice and I’ve never been so happy with a poem. Besides now I get to say James Wright with my name and that’s always a good thing.

I am writing. I shouldn’t jinx it by saying it out loud but hell I’m surrounded by boxes, grief, two children who are not reacting well to change and I am writing. It is similar to how did the chicken cross the road; how did Teresa Ballard survive this time in her life? She made a book-- it is the only way I know to get to the other side.

Both girls are doing Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream this summer, it was the price of a writing trip but I figure when they are old, after mommy has written a number of bad books they can support me. Besides I get to see them as fairies.

The prose book is 5/8 of the way done. Fractions are a big thing in my house at the moment. Olivia considers them fun—I think she might have been switched at birth.

If the rib was a boat, a hollow curve unfilled, if emptiness
was a seat, a wooden plank; would you let me on board with my paddle, my compass without needles, say to me row, as if you understood direction, your voice lifting above lilies, tendrils of plankton till you were done, satisfied where we had drifted.

Darling in this place so far from land where we cannot see shadow, do you understand how voices carry? I have heard you in the ship of others, the small songs and dirges. I have watched you offer no direction. I have lied and you have listened. But here is the seat of emptiness; it has no nails or hinges, if in the hollow curve we curl together, nothing is lost—we become air to each other.

W.S. Merwin

 
Trees

I am looking at trees
they may be one of the things I will miss
most from the earth
though many of the ones I have seen
already I cannot remember
and though I seldom embrace the ones I see
and have never been able to speak
with one
I listen to them tenderly
their names have never touched them
they have stood round my sleep
and when it was forbidden to climb them
they have carried me in their branches 

Nothing but the facts….

Today is the celebration of Olivia’s birthday and I have a seven foot blow up monkey sitting in my living room. I love that she is still a kid with goodie bags, monkey tattoos and tie dye beach balls. I am happy she still wants a “kid’s birthday.” My days are numbered.

Olivia and I went to the theatre this week to see Espranza Rising. There’s a part of the play where she lays her body on the ground to hear the heart of the earth, to know where she is. Espranza is taken from her home and everything she knows to begin again; “remember this” I said to my daughter, “remember you can begin anywhere.”

Truth is an amazing creature. Sometimes it clings like a beast to our ankles and we fear people finding out the truth or we fear our own deepest need. Things we have known forever but refuse to admit, and sometimes it feels like light traveling through a window; if you did not look up, you would not notice, you would not see.

Remember you can begin anywhere. I have not been truthful with myself over the last year. I have not been truthful about who I love, and I have not loved myself well. I was trapped in my own fear, of changing, of putting down the people I felt responsible for, my need to carry. I am done--begin, begin anywhere.

And the wonderful, horrible thing is my truth does not need to be yours. It is free to travel.

 
Happy 12th Birthday Miss Olivia Grace---you are amazing. 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz

Isabel’s teacher told the class that they weren’t to come to school if they were sick thus keeping the germs at a minimum, as a teacher I understand this but as a mother of a drama queen it has been two weeks of various illnesses. Tonight in the bath tub was the best--- Mama, I can’t go to school tomorrow because I was stung by a bee.

Please note the four feet of snow.

When my I was in Maine this last visit my grandfather gave me a photo of my grandmother, it was faded and yellow from sitting in their window for over thirty years. In the picture my grandmother is in Egypt riding a camel. As a child I would carry this photo with me to bed, b/c it was a CAMEL and my grandmother. We had no zoos in Maine just cows ;) I believed my grandmother was the bravest person alive for this one act and I remember telling her so. I also remember her telling me, how frighten she was, how high up it was, the man dropping the rope, hitting the camel’s ass and leaving her on her own. She didn’t get anywhere fast, she didn’t know what she was doing.

My grandmother was my age when her 8 year old was hit by a car and killed. She was also pregnant at the time and trauma caused her to loose her other baby daughter. When I grew, I always wanted to talk to her about these events b/c they were tragic, somehow a part of my history and I loved stories. I remember asking her about how she could live, why she just didn’t wither and die; she told me air continued to go into her lungs, air continued to leave---you breathe.

I understand. Truth: I love well and I don’t. I am a woman with things I can’t change and things I can. I was/am broken, I jumped, I shattered. I made different choices and I tried to start again. Another fact: I am a thirty-eight year old woman with two children and I’m a gay writer. I haven’t turned into anything anyone expected me to be—I am continuing to change. I don’t fit in a box but I can be labeled. But it is not all of who I am.

When I left my husband, told my family everything; my grandfather said, but you were her favorite. I understand. I have come too far to be afraid, too stay little. I have come too far to be defined. I have a nest of my own making. I am done hiding. I am done letting others determine my own truth.

Now I can begin.

 
I understand that when you move you should not buy things. I also understand, a photo taken by M does not show off the total possibility of the boots, that the boots themselves are a much, much deeper purple. Plus they are suede so they feel good. I also understand at 38, I should not, maybe be buying boots my children covet, then tell me NOT to wear to school to pick them up.

But one should note, at my book signing I’m wearing the damn boots. 

my beautiful new/old house

  

There are some people you cannot put in boxes: Celan, Rukeyser, Sexton; if I put them in boxes I might not hear them. If I put them in boxes they might say something I've missed so I am left packing the people I do not know, people I have not listened to, people I feel guilty about owning but not opening---these are the writers I move.

It is possible I can spend the next ten months inside my new/old house and barely catch up with everything. It’s possible I could take the money I have, move to Costa Rica with my daughters and never be heard from again. Anything is possible.

My best friend told me this week you are finding yourself, you are not suppose to know anything. No darling, I’ve been here all along—this is exactly what I know. I am the same person, my shell has extended but I am the same. Why is it, when you are open to the best and worst of who you are, people claim you are finding yourself? I was never lost.

This is your worst fear and I don’t know how to stop questioning, I can’t stop questioning and I don’t know how to be satisfied but I do think that is different from not knowing how to be loved. I was never lost. I am a lifter of stones---you hold them in them your mouth.

I am her.

Whichever stone you lift--
you lay bare those who need the protection of stones.
It’s not a matter of light but vulnerability.

Whenever you take into your hand
the half formed, the amphibian fish; fin legs, pin heart.
You must understand the drive to scatter.

A stone with its own moon does not remember
nor does it need to control the tide.
Darkness by her very nature is lax.

Do not expect more— yet within your own nature
is the exact opposite wonder, to uncover
what has no desire for light.

Isabel for President…

Teresa's battle with the molded C-Cup

I am buying a new swimsuit. I’m a Speedo lap girl and it should be noted here, I don’t mean that at all sexually. I have spent days looking for a swimsuit, my old one has holes in the belly from where I slid down the water slide illegally.

The reason it has taken so long to buy this one item, b/c now they are putting things in my perfect swimsuit, like aquatic molded bras, soft cups and seamless entries. What the hell. I have spent three days on line at every swim store on the internet (besides we all know, there are no seamless entries;)

First of all, I like my unmolded breasts, thank you very much! And please tell me why they don’t build little plastic penis holders into male bathing suits??? Because there would be A REVOLT, that’s why. All the speedo men would stand up (I mean that literally) and say, how the fluck are we suppose to swim in this? Ever try doing laps in a molded cup? Think floatation, think physics.

Besides I’ve been a woman for 38 years and I have NO idea what aquatic molding is or even a shelf bra. Now, if they would just simply say, this suit will cover your ass and occasionally show your nipples—I’d be all over it.

Till then people I’m swimmin’ naked! You've been warned.

What's really good about the word 'art' is that 'art' is a word
like 'love,' or 'god,' or whatever. It transcends so many things.
::: Tracey Emin :::

I miss myself. I miss the self I am, when I’m with you.

I am re-reading Charles Simic’s “The World Doesn’t End.” I have about fifty books on my bookshelf I haven’t read. I have some books, people would pay me to read, and write a review about but no, I’m reading Simic b/c he is calm and beautiful. I bet he is not in the process of moving. I bet he doesn’t wear purple suede boots, though one never knows. I want to think of him, washing vegetables in his sink, writing a poem by an open window. Charles makes me calm. I’m taking him to bed.

I have a couple readings coming up. I have a couple of grants due. I think Carolyn is getting back to me about the book this week but it’s feeling almost done again. I am half way done the manuscript I am working on of short stories. I am a third of the way done the prose poem manuscript. I need more life or less life and more windows and vegetables. I need you.

Last night I dreamt I was on the TV show 7th Heaven (it is like a modern day Walton’s) and Lucy sat me down in her Minster chair and told me everything was going to be alright, I didn’t need to worry about anything. I never dream I’m on TV shows—this definitely means I am not reading enough.

I want everything to be alright. I’m not sure I know exactly what that means. When I was a grief counselor I told people all the time they got to feel what they felt, not to rush themselves. When Evan’s dad was killed in a car crash, years later after I stopped grief counseling, when he came to my art class and told me all the ants in my room didn’t have daddies, I spent hours finding each one, building them a city out of plexiglass. I told him they were safe and each class we would watch them grow and build, make tunnels in the sand.

I know where all the ants live.

The writing gods are taking care of me. Maybe because I say every day, I miss you—I miss who I am with you and I do. Yesterday, I received this email about being part of a writing project about feminism. Each writer gets to pick a photo and write about what feminism means to them, which is basically a fancy way to say what does it mean to be a woman? It is goes into this really cool anthology and website.

I realized after I said yes, that I have absolutely NO idea what it means to be a feminist-- then I started writing about 15 different things in my head. Isn’t it exciting Liz said, at the absolute scariest time of your life, when you are learning to do everything on your own, someone asks you this question?

Sometimes I want to kick Liz very hard.

  

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): What's the best way to defeat a dragon? Some fairy tales propose the use of brute force, while others suggest that the protection of a magical amulet is preferable. Still other myths say the optimum strategy is to use stealth to avoid the dragon completely, though that usually means living in constant fear of the beast. From what I can tell, Leo, your future happiness will be best served if you use none of the above, but instead employ one of the two little-known methods of dragon-taming: either ask it sly riddles to confuse it or else pacify it through the entertaining power of your songs and dances.

First you begin with the body, the memory of the body,
you unfold it like paper, the crease
between thumb and finger, you say
here is her arm, leg. You open your mouth,
the nest where you have placed your tongue.
Remember, it is impossible to remember
without reflection so you go to the water.
Here is the water. You take her
eyes beneath glass, beneath mirrors—
chrysanthemums under sky, underwater.

our wonderful spring morning