Saturday, April 17, 2021

for ruth and all our mothers

 


For Ruth, and for all our mothers, when am I not dying:

When our cat shakes with purr and pops her head out of her curl and her pads look like a hyacinth breaking ground.

 

When we fall in love with another heirloom bean.

 

Whenever we use the intimacy of a nickname.

 

When skeins of rivulets join the larger stream.

 

When we smell the ocean in the river and our mind is tickled by the notion of how the salmon makes its journey.

 

When we listen.

 

When we light up when you walk into the room.

 

When the day begins to feel like a journey and you exhale into a deeper world.

 

When we are listened to.

 

When we are seen.

 

When we move under the hush of the tree’s canopy.

 

When a squirrel eats the bones of the bread turning it like a wheel.

 

When you shake the snow off the forsythia and it bounces up yellow with spring.

 

When answers feel right.

 

When we see a wren try to sing with a worm in its mouth.

 

When we feel the silver we’re wearing.

 

When we have the release of the out loud.

 

When we let the sun melt into our skin.

 

When we stop, because there is something about the light.

 

When we know like Ryokan, that we must go there today – tomorrow the plum blossoms will scatter.



please note ~ ~ ~ 

in this time of the pandemics - violence toward people of color, gun violence, ongoing assaults on our ecosystems, ongoing disregard for indigenous rights and lands, and COVID, in this time, i know there are many who see the good and work toward it within their communities, knitting missions with purpose, peace and recognition of each other. i'm humbled by the work you do. 

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