Archive | June, 2022

if a pile of ashes could speak

30 Jun

there may be a faint memory

that speaks

of a time –

it asked,

And what if I just stopped

trying so hard

and just let the love,

knocking at the door,

inside?

A dangerous question…

Gestures

are having Richter waves

in and out of this body-

a student’s obligatory email

wishing me a good day

suddenly is seen for the kindness it contains and

when one speaks with anger

out of her own pain,

I sigh, so kind!

Living in the seat of now

helps me to see all I overlooked before

but this seat is also

hot like an electric chair,

which causes me to hop off

some times…

Will I burst into flames

sitting here too often?

It feels so, at the tender edge,

where death by combustion is certain.

Running from the fire

of our own beauty

and peace

is a silly and dramatic pretense.

Right now it feels like

there’s nothing left to say

about anything other than that.

Now, I’m only able to practice returning,

10,000 times a day.

My charring is on the menu.

Every face that enters my world, my mirror,

every bee, as well.

Every watermelon too heavy to carry,

it’s thickness a testament

to the persistence and strength

for the will of matter and life,

inedible from my palate,

yet still holding up its end

of a cycle

from seed to fruit to seed

sown in soil

of waste turning into food,

given time.

I think I am.

I perceive this world as broken

but as I stretch beyond myopia

I see the world rightly aflame,

but really,  I am,

and

you are, you are–

Life happens on the skin

and in the sinew

but really in the cells holding

an agreement of flesh together

which we forget to register.

Pat your belly

and eat the watermelon

and feel

what is here

now, right here

that close.

So simple,

the fire

of your existence.

%d bloggers like this: