The tree is small this year

The tree is small this year--

the bottom boughs too short to cover

the sturdy stand which used to hold much grander trees.
Near the boughs

I sit on the floor, stretch out my arm

and strain to put my hand down into the stand to see if it needs refilling.

Only touching air

I pour clear water down into the dark space

until the water’s rising surface touches my silently waiting fingertips .

And for this simple act

I am blessed for hours with a hand perfumed with the scent of pine

from a tree, cut down and far from home, standing in a stand made for grander trees.

Healing after Sandy Hook

In this excerpt Christine Valters offers us a way to experience hope in the midst of so much grief.....

"In the wake of so much grief over the unimaginable violence at Sandy Hook elementary school last week, I invite you to let sorrow have its place in you.  I have no easy answers, and people who claim God's will somehow at work in the violence itself are offering trite answers to a mystery that is greater than our understanding.  Our response must be to stand witness to the terrible things done, to grieve and know the fullness of our own humanity, and to cherish those we love dearly and hold them close.  We are reminded again and again that life is a fleeting gift.  Sometimes it slips away in illness and sometimes stolen brutally.  There are no words of solace.  We must simply be with the great sadness of loss and know that these wounds and places of being broken open are where the grace enters.  We must commit again to make this one life matter.

One simple act you can do in response to this heartbreaking thievery of human life is to let yourself feel the deep grief of it.  Notice when you want to push it away, or numb yourself, or find a distraction.  This capacity to sit with the pain and let it work its way through you is the first and fundamental response. The second response is an embrace of love as the deepest and truest thing, what makes life bearable under the most grievous of circumstances.  Hold someone you love close, make amends with a loved one with whom you had a falling out.  Extend yourself in this circle of love.  These things matter deeply.  Then comes the hard work of conversation and change of policy and ways to protect lives more vigorously.  But this work must emerge from a place that has allowed the river of grief to flow through and the deep well of love to nourish and sustain.  We must remember the extravagant source of life as we consider the reality of death."

......from Christine's Abbey of the Arts website

A Purple Sock

a purple sock hung on a fence

caught my eye walking by--

further on a folded jacket                           

lay carefully placed upon a step.

through the cold crisp autumn air

hands unseen, unknown, unasked for

stopped, picked up

and touched with care

these garments worn on other bodies.

what makes one person stop and bend

to another person’s loss

while others onward 

nonchalantly

continue walking without a glance……..

7 November 2012

Happy 90th, Mom!!

                                                                                                                              

There once was a young woman from Billings

Who worked at the bank for a living.

One day she had luck

When in walked young Tuck

And her heart filled up with strong feelings!

                          There once was a mom from Montana                                
                          Who raised three girls to be ladies.
                          They gambled, they spit,
                          They cheated, they bit.
                          But they always said “Thanks!”  when they robbed ya!                  

There once was a woman on Arvin

Who loved  to sit in her garden.

With her hat on her toes

And her shoes on her nose

She sat there through summer and autumn.

                            There once was a woman named Gayle
                            Who always was hearty and hale.
                            When asked how she did it,
                            She simply admitted,
                            “I never eat asparagus or whales.”

Wanting--needing-- all and more

never silver, only gold

work-- children--money--health

can I imagine--settle--less?

Oceans flood twice a day

wind blows over mountain range

yet if I kneel I could see

buttercup living prodigiously.                 

Eight Years Later

Eight Years Later

Leaving (2004) - Returning (2012)

So many things were wrenched away

I nearly died right then--

the light, the sky, the warmth of home

vanished in the night.

A deep dark void remained within--

the only thing not taken.

Darkness holding back my skin--

no heart, no lungs, no gut, no spleen.

And as the blind learn to hear

and the deaf to touch the world

I learned to feel within the dark

and how to breath again.

Now going back to sky and home

the most precious thing I take

is this gracious, spacious emptiness

within this guise of skin.

Twickenham

22 February 2012

Binders

A piece of lined American notebook paper

fits easily into a three-ring American binder.

But French binders have four rings

and French paper is three centimeters longer than the paper back home.

Back home

I counted my binders: thirty-nine

holding each one in my hands, weighing its worth

take or leave behind

packing only the essential

from five years of grad school

five years of work.

Thirty-nine,

clearly marked

three-ring binders.

Now

I carefully remove some papers

shuffle

rearrange

mix them up with something I’ve just found

printed on that longer paper

forming a new workshop out of the old.

Yet neither binder holds them well:

either four fragile new holes

hover around the worn edges of three holes

or little strips of paper

jut out below the bottom edge.

I have to unfit and refit so many things---

It’s all a jumble in my head

a quavering in my gut--

trying

to fit three-hole papers

into four-ring binders.

                                8 December 2008

                                Paris, France