what I've learned from life, by Mary Elyn Bahlert
rumbles, marking work and action.
Here, hummingbird darts at the red feeder,
chases the giant sparrow away (chuckling, of course).
Squirrel hordes nuts and things for winter.
The small creatures of earth move as if there is no train in the distance, as if this moment is all there is, which is truly true, busy, bursting bodies, breath.
A siren roars , cuts through silence in which the creatures thrive, part of the mystery, also.
meb/10/2015
***
Reflections, autumn morning, city
My little friends,
yellow and brown and purple and green,
I treasure you,
my hands among your leaves,
my fingers at your roots.
My little friends,
there is so little I am good at in this world:
my children want for what they cannot have –
I have only these hands among your leaves
and a few places of sunlight in the house.
My little friends,
my eyes drop tear-less on your stalks;
I protect you from the cold in this place.
I touch you with these worthless hands
and you flourish.
+++
I wrote “Houseplants” as part of a series of poems that belong to my grandmother, Feodosia. For these poems are the story of her life, told through me over the course of a year or two in the late 1980’s. Surely our connection to the ancestors goes deeper than we know – or than we are taught to cherish, in our culture. The magic my Grandma – a bent-over babushka in a long black coat walking through the slush of Milwaukee’s narrow alleys – must surely have come through me, the magic of our connection told through the words I recorded.
Enjoy.
In the past, I could be in a funk for days. My thinking was off, everything was going wrong (especially in my thinking!), I was crabby, nothing suited me, the cat was a pill… you get the picture. If you’re honest, you can contribute your own list.
This morning, I awoke with that kind of thinking. Yuk. I am not a pleasure to be around, particularly for myself. Today, though, a gift arrived.
I spent time with a friend in her yard and garden. First, we cleaned the koi pond. Then, we cut off lilies past their bloom in the bushes. Finally, we took a tour of the vegetables in her suburban garden, dragging huge zucchini squash from their hiding places onto the lawn. Bees and dogs followed us around the yard, interested, of course, in every move.
Afterward, my friend and I parted for our separate days.
I feel better now. For a “city girl,” for one who has lived most of her life in her thinking and feelings – as if they are the center of the Universe! – the small tour of yard and garden was a gift. My friend apologized for all I would have to do when she leaves and I tend her garden for a couple of days. I don’t see it that way.
A day. A gift. Grounding. Something simple. Something profound. Memories of the ancestors, people of the earth. Songs.
Small pleasures. Gifts of God.
God Says Yes To Me- by Kaylin Haught
I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I’m telling you is
Yes Yes Yes
This evening, the sturdy Levi’s
I wore every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end
in perfect condition,
suddenly tore.
How or why I don’t know,
but there it was: a big rip at the crotch.
A month ago my friend Nick
walked off a racquetball court,
showered,
got into this street clothes,
& halfway home collapsed & died.
Take heed, you who read this,
& drop to your knees now & again
like the poet Christopher Smart,
& kiss the earth & be joyful,
& make much of your time,
& be kindly to everyone,
even to those who do not deserve it.
For although you may not believe
it will happen,
you too will one day be gone,
I, whose Levi’s ripped at the crotch
for no reason,
assure you that such is the case.
Pass it on.
Steve Kowit (1938-2015), The Dumbbell Nebula
