Gratitude: March 23, 2023

 

Gratitude: March 16, 2023

The Wonder of the Imperfect 

Nothing that I do is finished 
so I keep returning to it
lured by the notion that I long
to see the whole of it at last
completed and estranged from me

but no the unfinished is what
I return to as it leads me on
I am made whole by what has just
escaped me as it always does
I am made of incompleteness
the words are not there in words

oh gossamer gossamer breath
moment daylight life untouchable
by no name with no beginning

what do we think we recognize 

W. S. Merwin

Gratitude: March 13, 2023

A. Priority # 1: Protecting my peace. 

B. Agoraphobia 

"Yesterday the bird of night did sit,

Even at noon-day, upon the marketplace,
Hooting and shrieking."

—William Shakespeare

1.

Imagine waking

to a scene of snow so new   

not even memories

of other snow

can mar its silken

surface. What other innocence   

is quite like this,

and who can blame me

for refusing

to violate such whiteness

with the booted cruelty

of tracks?

2.

Though I cannot leave this house,   

I have memorized the view

from every window—

23 framed landscapes, containing   

each nuance of weather and light.   

And I know the measure

of every room, not as a prisoner   

pacing a cell

but as the embryo knows

the walls of the womb, free

to swim as its body tells it, to nudge   

the softly fleshed walls,

dreading only the moment

of contraction when it will be forced   

into the gaudy world.

3.

Sometimes I travel as far

as the last stone

of the path, but

every step,

as in the children's story,

pricks that tender place

on the bottom of the foot,

and like an ebbing tide with all

the obsession of the moon behind it,   

I am dragged back.

4.

I have noticed in windy fall

how leaves are torn from the trees,   

each leaf waving goodbye to the oak   

or the poplar that housed it;

how the moon, pinned

to the very center of the window,

is like a moth wanting only to break in.   

What I mean is this house

follows all the laws of lintel and ridgepole,   

obeys the commandments of broom   

and of needle, custom and grace.

It is not fear that holds me here but passion   

and the uncrossable moat of moonlight   

outside the bolted doors.

Linda Pastan

C. AT THE WINDOW

I was at the window
when a fly near the latch
was on its back spinning—
legs furious, going nowhere.

I thought to swat it
but something in its struggle
was too much my own.

It kept spinning and began to tire.
Without moving closer, I exhaled
steadily, my breath a sudden wind,
and the fly found its legs,
rubbed its face
and flew away.

I continued to stare at the latch
hoping that someday, the breath
of something incomprehensible
would right me and
enable me to fly.

Mark Nepo

"Every rejection, every disappointment has led you here to this moment” 

Gratitude: March, 10, 2023

1. Lady J & Oliver Puppanim

2. Guilty of Dust 

up or down from the infinite C E N T E R
B R I M M I N G at the winking rim of time

the voice in my head said

LOVE IS THE DISTANCE
BETWEEN YOU AND WHAT YOU LOVE

WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE

*

then I saw the parade of my loves

those PERFORMERS comics actors singers

forgetful of my very self so often I
desired to die to myself to live in them

then my PARENTS my FRIENDS the drained
SPECTRES once filled with my baffled infatuations

love and guilt and fury and
sweetness for whom

nail spirit yearning to the earth 

*

then the voice in my head said

WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE

OR LIVE IN DIVIDED CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT

WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE

Frank Bidart

3. For the Love of Ryan

The Whole Truth

There are so many stories. 

Too many unflattering truths to be told.

It's finally starting to wanna come thru...

Dear Life 

I can’t undo all I have done unto myself,

what I have let an appetite for love do to me.

I have wanted all the world, its beauties

and its injuries; some days,

I think that is punishment enough.

Often, I received more than I’d asked,

which is how this works—you fish in open water

ready to be wounded on what you reel in.

Throwing it back was a nightmare.

Throwing it back and seeing my own face

as it disappeared into the dark water.

Catching my tongue suddenly on metal,

spitting the hook into my open palm.

Dear life: I feel that hook today most keenly.

Would you loosen the line—you’ll listen

if   I ask you,

if   you are the sort of  life I think you are. 

Maya C Popa