Meeting the Light Completely

Even the long-beloved

was once

an unrecognized stranger.

Just so,

the chipped lip

of a blue-glazed cup,

blown field

of a yellow curtain,

might also,

flooding and falling,

ruin your heart.

A table painted with roses.

An empty clothesline.

Each time,

the found world surprises—

that is its nature.

And then

what is said by all lovers:

"What fools we were, not to have seen."

--Jane Hirshfield

All that's required of you

Did you know

there will be poppies

again this year?

It's true. I've seen

their muted green fractals

stockpiling sunlight,

distilling it down

to its purest essence

before igniting into

slow motion fireworks.

In the end, isn't this all

that's required of you?

To drink in what you love,

to concentrate it

in the crucible of your body,

and, finally, to bloom.

--James A Pearson

A Litany for Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

crucial and alone

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

at once before and after

seeking a now that can breed

futures

like bread in our children's mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

the death of ours;

We were never meant to survive.

For those of us

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother's milk

for by this weapon

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

For all of us

this instant and this triumph

And when the sun rises we are afraid

it might not remain

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

of indigestion

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

we may never eat again

when we are loved we are afraid

love will vanish

when we are alone we are afraid

love will never return

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive.

--Audre Lorde 

In a Friend’s Garden

“I want to be here to see

the poppies open,” my friend says,

telling me why she never travels

anymore in the middle of summer.

We each hold one of the heavy buds

whose petals already ache to break

free and spread, bursting red at the seams.

The mulch is warm beneath our feet,

and sunlight shimmers pink in the

shifting leaves of the Japanese maple.

I keep hearing her words—I want

to be here—and feel something new

leaning toward the light inside me too,

some seed of need just to be rooted

right where I am for each small pleasure,

every rippling wave of sorrow.

She wraps an arm around me, and we 

go inside for tea. There is nothing

to escape from, but our own desire

to escape at all.

—James Crews

Yes, We Can Talk

Having loved enough and lost enough,

I am no longer searching,

just opening.

No longer trying to make sense of pain,

but trying to be a soft and sturdy home

in which real things can land.

These are the irritations that rub into a pearl

So we can talk awhile

but then we must listen,

the way rocks listen tot he sea

And we can churn at all that goes wrong

but then we must lay all distractions down,

and water every living seed.

And yes, on nights like tonight

I too feel alone. but seldom do I

face it squarely enough

to see that it is a door

into the endless breath

that has no breather

into the surf that human shells

call god.

--Mark Nepo

An invitation to a brave space

Together we will create brave space

Because there is no such thing as a "safe space"

We exist in the real world

We all carry scars and we have all caused wounds.

In this space

We seek to turn down the volume of the outside world.

We amplify voices that fight to be heard elsewhere,

We call each other to more truth and love

We have the right to start somewhere and continue to grow.

We have the responsibility to examine what we think we know.

We will not be perfect.

It will not always be what we wish it to be

But

It will be our brave space together,

And

We will work on it side by side.

-by Micky Scottbey Jones

Messages from Everywhere

light up our backyard.

A bird that flew five thousand miles

is trilling six bright notes.

This bird flew over mountains and valleys

and tiny dolls and pencils

of children I will never see.

Because this bird is singing to me,

I belong to the wide wind,

the people far away who share

the air and the clouds.

Together we are looking up

into all we do not own

and we are listening.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

I forgive 

you 

~ to release me from you 

for so so 

long 

I’ve been holding my breath

waiting on an apology that will

not ever come 

~ it turns out that 

mercy for you 

is mercy for me 

I didn’t need a confession

  ~ just an admission that being 

a human is a messy venture 

and we can often get it all wrong 

but sometimes our 

tongues get 

knotted by pride

~ so I’m letting go for the both of us 

and the scar you left on me 

will be a reminder

of all the ones 

I’ve given others 

I forgive you

I forgive you

I forgive you

     and now I’m the breeze

and I hope you remember 

me fondly whenever you see the 

waves whip and whirl 

under a whistling windy sky 

~ john roedel 

You will never make anybody's life better

by agreeing to not be yourself.

Denying who you are will never

bring any other person true peace.

Though it may not seem so from the outside,

every soul in the universe is invested

in every other soul living inline with their truth.

Therefore, anyone asking you

to live in opposition to your essence,

to who you really are,

is not speaking from their soul.

They are speaking from their

learned biases, hatreds, and fears.

So, to be you is not only to be the guardian

of your own spirit, but also to be the guardian

of the spirits of those who mistakenly think

their lives would be better if you would

agree to be someone other than you are.

--Andrea Gibson

No Wrong Way

Pay attention to the interruptions, the wrong turns, 

the plans gone awry. 

Bow to the rude waiter, the overdue bill, 

All of the ways this world disappoints you.

This is the marrow of the practice, 

the heartwood: knowing how to love an imperfect life.

Still your mind, slow your breath. 

And witness the messy miracle of this moment 

revealing itself to you 

now

            and now

                                    and now.

--Stephen Pradarelli  August 11, 2023

Briefcases

Fifteen years ago I found my father's

    in the family attic, so used

       the shoemaker had to

repair it, and I kept it like love

until it couldn't be kept anymore.

    Then my father-in-law died

       and I got his, almost

identical, just the wrong initials

embossed in gold. It's forty years old,

    falling apart, soon

       there'll be nothing

that smells of father-love and that difficulty

of living with fathers, but I'd prefer

    a paper bag to those

       new briefcases

made for men living fast-forward

or those attaché cases that match

    your raincoat and spring open

       like a salute

and a click of heels. I'm going

to put an ad in the paper, "Wanted:

    Old briefcase, accordion style,"

       and I won't care

whose father it belonged to

if it's brown and the divider keeps

    things on their proper side.

       Like an adoption

it's sure to feel natural before long—

a son without a father, but with this

    one briefcase carrying

       a replica

comfortably into the future,

something for an empty hand, sentimental

    the way keeping is

       sentimental, for keep-

sake, with clarity and without tears.

-- Stephen Dunn

From New and Selected Poems 1974-1994

Better

We'll meet, yes - of course we will.

But not tomorrow or the week after.

Because work is hectic, or the kids unwell

or if we're honest, we're too tired or too lazy.

And haven't we all the time in the world?

Until we hadn't.

My last memory of you is singing

in the Hibernia Bar to an unruly crowd.

And above the clamour of barroom chatter

you dedicated every song to your audience of one,

who left before the set's closure

because there'd always be another.

And I wonder what right have I to mourn

when others did so much better?

Maintained the meetups, the texts, the calls.

Failed to let time slip by like we did.

Waiting for a better hour, a better day.

But grief does not discriminate.

--Tanya Farrelly