what would you do if i sang out of tune
would you stand up and walk out on me?
lend me your ears and i'll sing you a song
and i'll try not to sing out of key--
oh i get by with a little help from my friends...

*those guys who you all know*

it has been so long since i have written anything but poetry, which is kind of amazing. the last time i was so focused was almost a year ago. maybe it's the season. who knows! tonight was the first dodgeball game of the fall season. driving over the fremont bridge i realized that this is the first year marker here in portland--i started playing last year this time. it's been quite a year. new job, new goals, new houses (x2 at this point). and i remember a conversation my SIL and i had right around this time last year. i had come home on a rainy night, a little sick and a little sad. feeling friendless. which was not true of course, but i hadn't found my group here. she was studying and i went in and sat down on the end of their bed. snuggled the little black dog. as usual she got to the heart of the matter. "you've got the job." because i was working. "uh huh." "and you've got the running and writing." still do. "yup." "so now all you need are the friends. it's the last part of the trifecta." "i'm not sure how to find that." "it's never easy, reinventing a life for yourself, is it?" "no, it's not." "you're doing a good job. especially because no one ever warns you about how hard it's going to be." "i am?" "yup. and before you know it, you'll find them." "you think?" "ames, i know."

she was right. a few weeks later i started dodgeball. and then a few months after that, when i joined my second indy team, i found my group. we're an oddball crew. 22 is a hardcore basketball star, fierce and sweet and one of the most welcoming women i've met. bionicman is a smart man, a sweet man, with a good outlook on the world and an impressive set of ethics and morals. the vannabama boys--one quiet, one loud--are funny and goofy; we love the same movies and make the same dorky jokes. stoner is quiet and kind, a man everyone would want on their team, solid. together we are fiercely competitive, winners, the team that jumps and yells and cheers each other on and trades off and calls each other on our sh*t. off the dodgeball court we are loud and funny and can swear like sailors. and yet i find each of them to be, in their own ways, incredibly good people. no one tells you that out in the world, making friends isn't as easy as it was in kindergarten. i feel that i hit the jackpot with this crew and i know they feel the same way. they laugh at my snorts, understand when my job is rough, are there with a hug or a high five, have made me in ways both large and invisible a better version of myself. it's sometimes hard to step out and see where i could be a better person, with more common sense and stronger values. they are somewhat of a rudder and somewhat of a cannon, blowing off steam every wednesday night.

tonight, after 6 weeks off, we welcomed each other back with hugs and cheers and beers. we brought three new women into our team, awesome chicks each, who rocked the court along with us. we pissed people off, threw hard, and for one night in our week lived bigger than we ever let ourselves outside of those walls. well, except for 22. she's roughhouse. afterwards we sat around and had beers, ribbed each other, talked about breakups and school and funny work stories and cruddy work stories. in the blink of 2 hours we slipped back into a team. it's funny. i remember, as most people do, dodgeball games from elementary school. i couldn't wait to leave the court. even now-- my coworkers and friends and family, they think it's great but also look at me like i'm nuts. but that place, that place where so many that i know might not want to be, is where i have found another home.

it's a little thing, i know. for hell's sake, it's rec league big kid dodgeball in a tiny community center in portland. but to have something fun to look forward to, every week, guaranteed laughs and some hard work--to feel that rush and rise in confidence--to know that even when i don't play my best they will slap my hand and not mind--to know that when i do they will be jumping all over me--to remember on my hardest days that i am part of a team that routinely kicks ass--that's something big for me. special.

long month. goooood month! but long. this week has kind of officially sucked, although much of that is because i just didn't get my big girl pants on before the weekend ended and i was blindsided at work by things i might not usually let bother me. so it goes. some new poetry below--

1) the truth of the matter is,
you know,
that people do terrible things
to children.
not just children
but to their children

and you see, that is where my comprehension
ends,
in that word, the spaces and lines and dots creating that word:
"their"
the new blood that was once
in their veins
the small bones made from
their bodies

but that is what i know to be true
today
and in the absence of understanding:
this time
there is only grief
and salt tears tumbling down to slick
the dog's fur--
the only neck i clung to being hers:
and in wide brown eyes
thumping tail
head pressed to my jaw
she reminds me
that there is no shame
in feeling each tiny wound

she reminds me,
in little snuggles
and her stomach for my pillow,
that each pinch and ache of
sadness
signals the continuance
of my own humanity

nights like this
i wish i wanted to be:
a dancer
a banker
a chef--
anything else at all
if i could regain
the bits of heart
lost

nights like this
each patch of myself
scraped away in a
soured attempt of kindness
sears as fire

and i can hold only faith
that my broken heart offerings
will repair their own
knowing even as i extend the pieces
that they will fall short
by far:
in smallest bodies
beat ever expanding hearts
solar flares
which i dare not attempt to match

so instead
layer by layer
i will peel the bruised
(and broken)
skin
from fragile
(and fragmented)
bones
and wear their misfortune as my own

hoping
as i do
on nights like this, you know,
that their truth
will one day be a lie
that their history
will not repeat onto itself
in far flung days

but that change will rustle
as wind through oak leaves
and we will do better tomorrow

and

2) In the calm woods, frozen in and out
Of time
There is a sweet pleasure
To find
In the deep drifts of snow and days
That, in fact, the world carries order
Beyond our control

And in the deepest hibernations:
Endless caverns
And starlit paths
We cannot touch what lies beneath,
Where the fawns wait to be born,
In the recesses of a spring yet unknown
Far off in guaranteed days

And in the night
Oh, for trees
Ageless and free
Whistling in the wind a song wise and sad
I go to the woods because they are not mine
I stay because there I am known
Without cause or agenda

We can but hope
Somewhere in worlds far distant from our own
That the woods will wait
Hold their counsel
And keep their peace

For in them is joy
With music in crooked streams
The places where we will lie
In dusty graves
Seeking beyond our bodies
That place which is forever home

she says "thank you".
"you don't hear it, i expect,
but you all do amazing work
and we are so grateful",
she says.
i become a statue staring
at this woman:
a grandmother too young,
dirty shirt
messy hair
crooked smile that barely lights on her lips

and i don't know how to tell her
that tonight i will go home
and cry
because no one has thanked me before.
yelled at me
slurred epithets: "bitch"
cried at me
spat bitter words of frustration
tried to tear down my soul;
that i have come
to expect. i cannot blame them.
our clients are bleeding.
walking through our doors
their hope sloughs off
and they stand before us with anger
as their only shield.
and their only weapon.

but thank you is a gift
that grows in my cupped palms,
a small eternal flame.
and to her i owe everything,
today.