Thoughts on “(Hoping for) A Gold Rush”


In light of Monday’s poem, I have so many thoughts, but I think this Chinese proverb holds so much weight and promise on its own. It says, “Women hold up half the sky.” Women. Are strong enough to hold. HALF. The sky.

Maybe it’s because I’m raising two young girls, or maybe because I keep seeing the fruit of speaking up, but I can’t stop un-seeing how much I have not believed this. And what a shame. (Which we are pretty good at heaping on ourselves, right?)
But what is not a shame is that the sky is still there and I am still here and today is today. Let’s reach out our hands, knowing & trusting we are included in the pinnacle of creation, and that we have work to do. It is good and it is so very needed.

Asking and Telling

by Abigail Rudibaugh

swingSo many people telling you
how to meal plan and clean
house so you can have more
time to read, more how to’s.
So many people telling you
how to fill your time well
so your life’s (error) margin
is small and your crowns
in heaven large.

Meanwhile, your daughter
is asking if you can push her
on the swing. You push aside
the to-do lists and try to put aside
the pressure of your mind
as you push her. She pumps
her legs hard, but off-beat
enough to not go any higher.
Oh, how you can relate, and,
how you can teach her.

But when she asks about
the moon still being in the sky,
even with the sun—When
you look up and remember
how big the blue really is—
Surely enough to hold the pressure—
The pumps in your mind release
just a bit, and off-beat,
but, it still matters.
You realize how much
she can teach you.

A Backstory

“So, where are you going with this?” A random poem and a new account sound like a cocktail recipe for failure. Yet, here I am with a handful of poems and ponderings (hii 👋🏼) that I have wanted to talk about for years.

If you know me, you know I love a good poem— the carefulness in the words, the observation of the ordinary, the openness to learn—all seemingly perfect juxtapositions to our world these days.

I love finding these contrasts, these breaks, to the monotony and the coldness and the hurry. I need to know they exist. And thankfully, they do—not only in written word but also in the traffic jams and the leftover soup. I write about “pockets of lovely” to think on them, to study them, in hopes that their lesson can sink deep into my bones and heart. Thanks for letting me share them with you. I pray they lift your spirits as they have mine.

[wpvideo rW40gFbA]


by Abigail Rudibaugh


A crane joins me on the shoreline
as the waves try to tag us—each one
further than the last (but I notice they
sometimes slow down to rest) and I slow
down to listen. The boats in front of us
become like magnets pulling together to
share their morning greetings with each
other while the sun gently raises her hand,
stilling us into her trance as she enters.
How can something so expected,
still be so surprising?

I take out my phone and fumble
for my camera. The crane really is close,
looking at the ocean take on new colors
right beside me. I move toward the button
as her wings and legs bend—two-thirds
of her body—through the screen.
She flies away. I tighten.
She returns. I exhale.
I cannot stop watching her
circling around the boats, the sun, and
then back to me.

She’s right. I knew better than to pretend
my phone was ever invited to our meeting.