sadness

Marie’s Lamentation

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The Mother gave birth
To three daughters
None of whom
Would ever bore another.

Two of the daughters –
The eldest and the youngest
No longer carry their uterus.

Two surgeries-
The one, reluctant to wake from Anesthesia’s deep slumber.
The other, she almost did not recover.

The only daughter with all organs intact,
Chose to walk a childless path.

The Mother
is sad
heartbroken
grief-ridden.
Blaming herself
for the end of the family line.
No legacy, only perceived decline.
“Why”” she asks, wailing at her Fate.
“Did I
in Life
make a horrendous mistake?”

family

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family –
what does this word mean, really?
blood relations?
friendships?
resonance across space & time?

from the Latin word famulus,
denoting servant;
same root as familiar,
yet family can feel
more distant than stranger.

our people, our tribe,
our ride or die –
we so easily say,
but behave
often
in an entirely different way.

loneliness continues to rise
worldwide.
perplexed, we ask why
given so much connectivity.
might it be
because we
forget
how to be
how to do
family?

“Autobiography begins with a sense of being alone. It is an orphan form.”
― John Berger

Iron

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I will not carry your Iron,
I will no longer bear your Burdens,
I shall not strive to Redeem you,
I will only Thank you,
for being the vehicle of this birth,
the channel through which this River flowed
into illusion, destined to forget
and then
to remember.
I was to spread these Wings
perhaps wider than was allotted to you,
parents, who did what was your story to do,
to “love” as you were “loved”.
Alas, ancestral trauma,
we drag it from
generation to generation
iteration to iteration
until it dissipates,
withers,
is transformed
back into the Love
from which it
ultimately
came.
All trauma is golden
at its core –
was crafted in service
and protection.
Without it –
likely no ancestry,
no bloodlines,
no opportunity to
re-member;
no journey to take
back to where it all began…
I will not carry your Iron,
I will play
my Role
in melting it.

Inspired by and indebted to Mary Oliver’s stunning poem, Flare
“my mother, alas, alas,
did not always love her life,
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,”


prayers to you

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what’s it all about,
you coming into
this scared space
spewing your hate?
why not go outside
to the streets
into the Light –
strong and proud
expressing as you perceive:
that only white lives matter
all people of color
have “it” coming
that their lives mean nothing.
prayers to you,
for you truly know not
what it is you do.
you have forgotten
what You really are;
alas, you can see but so far-
only to the level of the skin
so utterly limited you are,
tightly constricted
unseen, likely never really heard,
lonely in your Little Box
amidst your tribe
of hardened have nots.
from such profound lack,
you shame and blame
easily kill and maim,
desperately looking outside
for what does not exist within.
no present capacity to self-reflect
nor the tools to adequately take stock
and practice personal responsibility.
fervent prayers for the lost pieces of you-
may you soon re-member and awaken.

 

Sacred Moment

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Eight weeks in

this strange,
sudden
lonely
traumatic
seclusion.
A particularly fierce form of Grace.
All a bit of a blur-
so much has taken place
as revealed by this now wizened face.
Innocence gained and lost
as we endeavor to make the most
of what is truly a Sacred Moment–
a pause, a break, space
for resurrection and metamorphosis.
Who will come of this?
Already feeling familiar pieces
falling away – cannot retrieve them
for there is no going back-
only surrender –
a radical submission,
to humility and a facile generosity
born from the remembrance
of our connectedness
and shared ancestry.

Mask

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Alas,
how is this suppose to work
now and going forward?
Vulnerability,
the removal of our masks –
invisible and heavy-
had just become
more comfortable
for so many.
Now,
suddenly,
the mask-
sterile and tangible-
has become
mandatory.
A rare treat
to see a naked face
walking down a street.
We’ve become aliens
out of necessity,
orbiting around each other,
getting no closer
to the “stranger”
that six feet.

Tears and Touch

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Tears
for lack of Touch;
Touch
then dissolution to Tears.
So fundamental,
touch;
essential
to our development,
to our humanity.
dissolves protective walls,
loving touch,
transforms fears,
awakens and untethers
The Soul.
Akin to breath,
the gift of touch,
a vital nutrient,
a universal must.
So, how to navigate
this time of
distrust
of all touch?

Faces

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it is discouraging
and sad
to me
to see
Human Faces–
half obliterated –
nose, checks, mouth and chin –
well hidden,
swallowed,
by a mask
in the name of
protection.
relenting to fear and paranoid,
we separate,
decide it best not to congregate.
instead
stock, lock and cover up.
there is, of course,
a place for
diligence and precaution.
however,
when does it cross that delicate line,
demolish trust,
become too much,
threaten our humanity
to the point
we forget Faces
and
our inter-dependency?

 

The Wall

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I hit The Wall
today;
ran right into it –
mind, body and Spirit – splat!
Hit it so hard,
the tears came
tumbling down,
suddenly,
out of seemingly nowhere.
A deluge –
in public no less!
“What is this?” I cried,
trying desperately
to cover and hide.
A rare occurrence
for me-
losing control,
forced to surrender,
pause,
look,
pivot
and reconsider
choices made,
examine
subconscious motivations,
and
the allowance
of subtle intimidation.