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Creo que si … I believe

it will rain

tomorrow … I believe

the son of a bitch

is going into the river …

I believe All men are

created equal–By your

leave a leafy

shelter over the exposed

person–I’m a

believer creature

of habit but without

out there a void of

pattern older

older the broken

pieces no longer

salvageable bits

but incommensurate

chips yet must

get it back together.

…

As it gets now impossible

to say, it’s your hand

I hold to, still

your hand.

from Creo by Robert Creeley

*****

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

13 Ways: What the Elephant Tree Knew

When Lila and Bat were eight and four years old, respectively, they believed that the elephant tree could hear them. More importantly, they believed that she understood them. Every day and in all kinds of weather, the two girls would run to the bushland near their home, laughing in relief to see that their tree was still there. They were young, but they understood about trees: how one could grow tall and strong for a hundred years or more, only to be killed off in a second by a lightning strike, or killed off more slowly from fatal ring-barking. Lila and Bat relied on the elephant tree, as they relied on each other. She was the best listener they knew. She was their friend.…

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13 Ways: Thursday afternoon, near the turtle pond

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on April 2, 2014

“You know when it happened, don’t you?” he asked. I just stared at him, my mind a blank. At that moment there was nothing in it except sunshine and wind and, in one tiny corner, the thought that I really did know where I had misplaced that green scarf. “You took your eyes off it and let it slip from your mind and, just like that, it drifted away. You’ll never get it back. It’s gone for good. You can’t do that. You are responsible for some things forever and it’s up to you to hold on as tightly as you can; as if your life depended on it. After all, someone’s just might.” If I had known him, I might…

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