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    Midnight at LAX

    At airport looking at airplane flying at dusk.

    Posted on June 20, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

    MIDNIGHT AT LAX

    I go feral at Gates 46-49, sitting near
    a young man playing RPG on his phone,
    the sounds loud enough to touch me, and I play 

    funny IG reels with the volume turned up,
    cackling like a witch with slant eyes because
    nighttime Jenn is different than daytime Jenn.

    Under artificial lights, I thrum with possibility.
    I look at my lipsticks, of which I have many,
    and consider painting the bathroom mirrors– 

    a spewing volcano, a bouquet of red roses,
    the blazing fire of dawn. Suddenly I hear
    the faint sounds of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” 

    rise over the din of the busy terminal.
    Soon the teen chorus rounds the corridor,
    and the river of song envelops us all, 

    their faces alight with the ferocity of creation,
    and I leave my luggage behind,
    joining the fray, overtaken together–

    the raucous play, the wild joy,
    the wondrous singing lifting us all
    while the stars burn in the darkness.

    Image / Photo by Kazuo ota on Unsplash

    Hello, Redwoods

    Redwoods under blue skies

    Posted on May 31, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

    HELLO, REDWOODS

    We streamed out of the conference center under pristine blue skies bathed in noonday light, our voices a cascade of laughter, each note of joy rising upwards like sweet incense wafting in the air.

    A Redwood grove rained on us as we walked near the temple, their heavy boughs absorbing ocean waters and sky, gifting us droplets of light and air which landed softly like pennies dropped in a fountain. 

    We each entered the communion of silence like the redwoods, a dimension of space-time slower and livelier than speaking. 

    After sitting, I stepped outside, walking slowly for kinhin on a stone porch strewn with metal chairs, bright yellow flowers tucked into rosemary, and the dream of redwoods as blue streaked through morning mist. 

    In the days of silence, I hiked for hours midday, weaving through rings of redwoods, clover as large as a child’s palm, and gulches of mossy stones, nothing but forest and the ethereal sounds of the hermit thrush on my mind. 

    Walking back, I fulfilled the Navajo promise to walk in beauty everyday: Giant stands of redwoods touching the sky, sage-gray saltbrush lining the stone abutments to my right, and the glimpse of freedom faraway, the blue waters of the bay hidden by mists rolling in. 

    After I hugged a dear friend, I glanced at the pond waters reflecting the glorious trees and the blonde hills tinged with green, praying to remember all this on the long summer nights when fire and dust reign down. 

    My soul is the mountain forest, the sun-dappled floor covered in redwoods and auburn needles, water-hewn rocks and the sounds of ravens flapping their wings overhead. 

    The hugs, laughter, and future plans felt like a bouquet of roses I would inhale later, to nourish and strengthen me as I sat at the airport on hard plastic chairs, waiting into the night to catch my last flight home. 

    As we pulled away from the retreat center, I stopped the car and hiked through the mountain once again, footfalls disappearing as the ancient song of the redwoods held my heart in welcome. 

    Image: Mount Madonna Retreat Center, near Monterrey Bay, California 

    Home Is

    Wildflowers in rural Texas at sunset.

    Posted on May 15, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

    HOME IS

    Look, Texas Spring, how many shades of green can you conjure?
    I walk down my favorite block in a river of hope,
    entering a celebration of green–

    Chartreuse, forest, olive, and emerald–
    all pressed up against a deep throated laugh of an opalite sky.
    Where has sadness gone? 

    Above me cumulus cartwheels like swirling tidal waters,
    waves of white rejoicing. To pray is a deep breath of relief and thanks.
    I say hello to the kind man at the corner, pulling weeds in his front yard 

    and stooped low to the ground, how he flashes an incandescent smile
    just for me and offers warmth in his words–
    Enjoy your walk!

    After, I float back home, uplifted by cool breezes and streamers of green
    and the chittering of the Carolina Wren, my heart tuned once again
    to the key of wonder, playing in the scale of light.

    Image / Uunsplash

    Mothering

    A little squirrel with a bushy brown tail looking directly at the camera.

    Posted on May 9, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

    MOTHERING

    The gray cat and I looked out the window
    and spotted the young squirrel below, foraging for nuts
    in the shielded soil of our front-yard shrubs.
    Her golden-brown tail waved like a conductor
    and I became the orchestra, playing my next note,
    calling out to the little one, Come sit here with us,
    and she did. The cat scampered off in excitement,
    but I stayed by the glass to admire new life before me,
    the slip of a squirrel still munching on her nut
    while I cooed at her, close enough to savor her fur
    the color of sunburnt grasses, close though to gaze
    into her dark brown eyes looking back at me sweetly
    as if to say–Can you love me as I am? Can you? Can you?
    And I have always wanted to be a mother,
    had no inkling, only hope, this tiny patch of earth our home
    would become a sanctuary, an unfolding green house of grace
    and I whispered to the quiet one before me
    the one always listening, hearing the words spoken–
    I can, I can, I can. 

    Image / Alex Lauzon, Unsplash

    The Turning

    A night sky full of stars in France.

    Posted on April 18, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

    THE TURNING

    Another retreat, this time a surprise,
    three days of silence in blue foothills
    where juniper and pinyon pine dance.

    Pouring myself into mud and hay,
    the zendo and its inhabitants
    hold me as I weep ancient waters.

    On day two, I catch a glimpse– 

    I am the warming seas,
    roiling swells, thrashing winds,
    a woman who saw a ghost,
    my sailor vanished into the cloud
    while tailing the moon.

    By nightfall, there is the turning
    glittering light covering me
    in garments soft and cool. 

    I watch your figure dissolving
    into sweet nothingness while
    freefalling into galaxies of pure joy.

    There is nothing but this aliveness
    this love that is everywhere
    your breathing heart and mine
    which is free.

    Note: I wrote this poem after a three-day Zen retreat in February this year, and my experience was like a psychedelic journey, as if I was flying while sitting in silence all day. This is often how we engage in transformation: We turn from deep anger to anguish to ecstasies of joy, and only if we allow it can we change.

    Image / Night sky full of stars in France, Dns Dgn

    Where Peace, Where Sweetness Lives

    Cloud enos at Galveston Beach.

    Posted on April 2, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

    I ended the retreat in mountains and drove to the coast, finding mothering in infinite skies, and seagulls, and tiny sanderlings who ran in a flock of six along the beach, as I sauntered back to the wooden footbridge at dusk. The ocean gleamed silver-blue in the evening, and sandy beach and dunes unfurled before me in muted wonder. As a baby, I came to Galveston, brought by my parents, both babies themselves in need of healing and relief, and I imagine I flung myself onto the surf, letting those silvery waves bathe me in belonging. Read more