…remembering
the time you, only twenty, a first-aid man
in a mill town, delivered a baby up north,
that slipperiness, the shout the baby gave
when he took in the whole world with his breath.– Patrick Lane, from The Quiet In Me
Sometimes the mystery of existence
gets so embedded in utility,
that language, life, the world itself, feels
an abstraction, calcified.
Then, at the checkout, you see an infant’s hand, clasp
her mother’s little finger,
and something upends your loneliness.
And what you’d conceded to the weeds
blooms open, and you’re captive
to all that is.
Everywhere you turn sends a charge: the wire cart,
the parking lot, the dent
in your Chevy, the pitted driveway,
the fading fence, Tabby
scooting through the patio door, the basil
in the kitchen window,
so green it’s barbaric,
the blackened kettle, the oolong tea,
all anointed—holy.
And now you know why a mortal wears a moonstone,
or cross or crescent, gets a tattoo,
carries a shell or a crystal in their pocket.
Not to seize, or repeat, but to remember, keep faith
with that moment,
your breath was deliverance, your heart
was a shout,
I am here! I am here!
???????
NoNonoo LOl – I made a HEART 7 times, no questionmark 🙂
Thank you so much, Leelah. I know these are hearts. 🙂 My site can’t seem to tranlate that sign to the symbol.
Dear Stephen,
This poem is so gorgeous and poignant. I love the way it begins and the way it ends so much — and of course everything in between!
Warmly,
Cara
Hi Cara, this means a lot, coming from a gifted poet like you.
To begin with such a beautiful image
takes ones breath
to follow with such joyous
words and
pictures of the mind
and heart
returns one to the breath
of knowing.
Thank you dear Stephen, for this. <3 -^-
Thank you, Tamara. Your careful reading is my restoration.
Keeping faith – I read somewhere that the inner membrane of the lungs, where the oxygen and carbon dioxide molecules exchange places, is blurred – so connected and dependent are we to what surrounds us ….
Amazing. Thanks Sam.