From a recent review of the collection, now on sale:
”I appreciated this volume of poetry. Brower’s explorations of relationships of different kinds (mother/child/friend/lover) struck chords in me. I liked her poems exploring grief and also the balm of nature.”
We met waiting for a green light on a downtown corner more than a decade ago, walking together til he arrived at his office, just three buildings away from mine. We had lunch a few days later, as friends; he made it clear to stay away from him until I was available. I respected that.
Six months later everything changed, I sent him an email to check in. Which is when he told me he felt like a jet plane was landing in his yard, and that he needed a few days to sort some things out. Those emails were full of hope, care, romance, unspoken promises. A few months passed, when I introduced him to my son and my son’s dad, both loved him at first glance. That was ten years ago.
You’re reading SOFTENING TIME, a newsletter on practice, learning and small transformations. Annual subscriptions are 20% off this week as I share pieces from my collection of poetry; all proceeds are donated to causes related to feeding and educating women and children. Subscribers access live gatherings, all archives, video and audio practices and our chat. If you have financial restriction, please reach out regarding scholarship subscriptions. You’re also invited to explore my books, courses and artwork.
This week’s piece speaks to the commitment we keep making, to stick together no matter what the world tosses in our laps, to always close the door of the bathroom, to uphold a sense of mystery every chance we get. To bear witness to one another’s evolution, to savor our foibles in the mundane moments, to care deeply about one another’s choices.
Love you so much, Jimmy. Accepting myself gets easier through your eyes.
And for couples who might find it useful, we’re going to start sharing what works for us, someday soon. Stay tuned.
Photo by Pete Longworth.
trails through trees
cloudy November morning, exhausted, Bowery and Houston.
in comes your handsome, well-dressed, salt-and-pepper energy,
all seawater and depth, eyes, giving,
yes.
your kind presence filters in.
my mother will love your
blue-eyed wonderment.
next chapter is handed down
when your hand lands on my chest.
words are happening. but not quite yet.
we wait for life to grant us our opening.
i’ll never forget your big paw on my heart.
the feeling of wanting to start something.
by the time we see one another again,
you’re striding toward me; i’m so far in.
i invite you to bring some of your things.
i bend and fold and mold myself to your kindness.
sobriety, deaths.
illnesses, madness.
creativity, impermanence.
somehow we maintain a distance,
a nourishing mystery, still softening.
moments string together; life glistens across quotidian landmarks.
the brushing of teeth, unknotting of tiny chains on bathroom sinks,
sunshine on silent balconies.
fed, flourishing, private, seen.
now holding hands awkwardly on narrow trails through trees.
Softening Time, p. 99-100.
Tell me about moments shared; the ones that mean nothing yet everything.
A Gift
If you'd kindly offer a review of Softening Time on your favorite book platform, copy and paste your words in the comments below to be entered to win a signed copy of the book. I’ll personally send one out to a lucky winner next week.
Elena, I am so touched by this love between you and your wonderful partner and it fills me with hope that one day, too, I may find a love like this--divorcing so late in life, I don't know if that is in the cards for me but I am not done with love. Are we ever? To be human is to yearn for love, and often, romantic love. Your poem is gorgeous, as is all your poetry. I will gladly leave a review. And now that I see Barri below in the comments says Softening Time is the book she gives those in need of grief support, I see that I need to order a couple of copies right away.
Dearest Elena, what a wonderful share, I feel so deeply happy for you all.