Daily Archives: August 24, 2016

A Day Off


september2015 019

It’s my birthday. I’m not writing today. My gift to any who come looking: a poem by one of my favorites, Mary Oliver.


When the blackberries hang

swollen in the woods, in the brambles

nobody own, I spend

all day among the high

branches, reaching

my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming

the black honey of summer

into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark

creeks that run by there is

this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is

this happy tongue.