What would grow?

If My Heart Were Planted....

My heart is like a flower bulb
Dormant, dry, but bold
Waiting to be planted
When the air turns cold.
 
Before the ground has frozen
Beneath winter’s ice and snow
Soil will envelope me
As I’m buried in a row.
 
All winter I will lie
Forgotten but alive—
Warm and safe and growing
In darkness, deep inside.
 
My roots absorb the nutrients
While wrapped in earth’s cocoon,
Feeding on the energy
Inside the Mother’s womb.
 
For months my soul seeks solitude
In quiet meditation
Until I break the soil
With green determination.
 
Tall blades precede my stem
Sensing spring light above
Then this burst of yellow jonquil--
Blooms power, hope, and love.

Her Chimayo Jacket

Her Chimayo Jacket

Thou shalt not covet thy boyfriend’s

mother’s jacket. Oh, but I did.

It hung on cedar in the guest room closet.

I was the guest that Santa Fe summer.

The red wool sleeve said, “touch me.” The

silver buttons boasted, “we’re older than you.”

For some reason, it is okay to covet my mother-in-law’s jacket.

After all, she has already parted with her most prized possession.

She helps me into the styled blanket, smoothing the shoulders.

The heavy Chimayo wool wonders if I can bear its weight.

Two square pockets hide promises and memories.

The red collar turns up tongue-like, whispering secrets.

Her jacket comes home with me, returning along the lines

of its design—Route 66, Albuquerque, Pinon, Flagstaff.

Years later, from the doorway of dementia, she mourns its loss.

My former father-in-law asks, apologetically, for the jacket back.

The familiar red sleeve says, “touch me”; the shiny buttons affirm, “we remember you.”

She wraps herself in the 1940s, once again on that road trip from Kansas to New Mexico.

The Chimayo jacket, returned by her son, now lives in my closet.

Its red and black, gray and white symmetry still speaks to me.

Full Circle in a New Outfit

Almost nine months ago, I said good-bye to my coworkers and voluntarily left the world of proprietary (i.e. for-profit) education, a world I had inhabited for only 15 months before deciding not to pursue full-fledged citizenship on planet ATI. Never before had I opted to resign from a job without having a next step, but the threats to my psyche from remaining in that environment were far worse than facing the daunting possibility of finding gainful employment during a recession.

I decided then to allow myself some time to recover, to reflect, and as my aunt says, to reinvent. Instead of immediately applying for jobs, I tried on other possibilities: Entrepreneur, Consultant, Editor, Writer, Lazy Bones, Long Distance Walker, Blogger, Poet.... It was like the sabbatical year that we lived in student family housing at Fuller Seminary, and I discovered that the large laundry room nearest to our apartment doubled as a "clothing exchange." If something had shrunk in the dryer and didn't fit anymore, just leave it on the table for someone who is slightly smaller. Or if your kids outgrew their school clothes halfway through the year, display them on the table and some other poor-grad-student mother (from Nigeria or England, Arizona or India) will snatch them up for her children. It was the same way with men's and women's clothes--tired of that thrift-store shirt? It will be gone by noon. Check back next week, ladies, and you'll find a dress, just your size, to replace the one you've recently decided is the wrong color, or pattern, or style. My wardrobe underwent substantial change that year, at no cost! What fun to try things on, wear them once or twice, and then trade them in for a better fit (or a daring experiment, like a red knit mini-skirt).

After publishing a book, walking 60 miles, making multiple trips to California to visit family, and concluding that the yoga-business-idea did not fit, I determined that January 2013 would be a good time to start looking for bona fide employment, in earnest. Armed with an updated LinkedIn profile and subscriptions to several good job-search sites, I once again entered "the job market," an arena I'd done battle in a few times.

In brief, here's how it has played out:

• January 15: Apply for Senior Technical Writer/Editor job.
• February 13: Panel Interview
• March 6: HR/pre-employment briefing, but nothing official yet.
• March 22: Official offer and approval for hire.
• April 3: Drug test and medical screening
• April 15: Day One!

(Meanwhile, I also applied in earnest for 2 other positions, and had 2 in-person interviews, and 2 nice-to-meet-you-but-you're-not-a-fit phone calls. I have also given 3 poetry readings/book-signings, tutored for the Albuquerque GED organization, taken a sestina-writing class, traveled to CA and LA*, and done some freelance editing.... the Lazy Bones outfit didn't fit, either.)

In a weird way, this brings me full circle to the same place my father worked in the 1950s when he and my mother were first married...the place that launched his career and enabled him to support a young family.

And so today I am grateful, for the time and space between the last job and this one, for the life the Scientist and I have made together, and for a new adventure. Happy April.

*Note to those west-coasters who think that LA means only Los Angeles, thereby making my statement redundant, review your USPS state abbreviations (or look for New Orleans on a map).