Friday, June 17, 2016


Often resurrection hangs in the air
like some floating spring blossoms
released by a wind gust

Resurrection found in stones
singing with one another
as the creek flows around them

Resurrection in the breath of a child
running from the bus
toward the parent’s waiting arms

Resurrection in the dawn-garden
dripping down Mary’s face
until he calls her name

On the road
breaking bread
frying fish
sharing work with one another
sharing stories of healing and grace

Jesus, as we gather, we hear you say:
“and now you’ll be telling stories of my coming back
and they won’t be false,
and they won’t be true
but they’ll be real”*

*Mary Oliver

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Sweeping the Salt Away

All day you move just out of sight
a flicker of thought flashing
through the corner of the eye
canted toward a past day

Dusk arrives-- my longing rises
all my windows and doors
laid thick with salt
keeping you at bay

Stars gather overhead-- there is no moon
I sweep the salt from the sill
open the door
and sleep

I feel the heft of you
your shoulder and ribs
heavy against my leg
your dear face held within my hands

Dreams gather and release
breath rises and falls
sighs drift through the open door
a mourning dove calls the dawn

Wake and sweep the salt away

                        Pamela Olson, 7/4/2015

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Fat Tuesday

salting my way around the house
too late to keep out the spirits
death stretches its arms
the ashes on my forehead
yet to come

Friday, October 17, 2014

Mt. Mitchell

spruce needles quiver
cloud breath lifts
and falls

cirriform-needles filter the air
as roots lie latched to stone
backbone of this mountain

out-of-place sea creature
wood-barked barnacle drinking air
not seawater

Pam Olson