Sunday, January 1, 2023

December Poems

December writing happens mostly in the dark, after prayer and before work. Liminal, lumious, labial. I thought there would be eight poems but was wrong. It's okay. The season, not the holiday. Writing, not the writing. 

I thought often of those who share the way with me, some of whom want more than I can give, most of whom I want but cannot find a way to remain congruent with. Chrisoula and I got clear, then clearer. There is always another level of fear, always another error. That too is okay. Knowing where to lay one's tongue is all the heaven a body needs. Act and adapt accordingly!

At night in the hayloft I gazed east across fields of stars gazing down at fields of snow, all of it terminating in a mutable horizon. Winter gazes back, it always has. Love undoes our fear of the void. Beyond the one who gazes, God, and beyond God, Love. No big thing, also the only thing, et cetera.

I remember the suffering of those who share my body, and in this way reach the end of time. Or rather, the mutability of time. Somebody somewhere wants me to learn something. Lean into something? Reality is a story telling itself to itself over and over is not the worst way to understand reality. There are others of course but sooner or later you dance with the one who brung ya.

Aunt Muriel said that. There's a time to play and be a child, there's a time to work and be an [elder brother or sister] or [whatever]. Family was the way but isn't any longer, don't lose the thread. No sooner does Jesus comfort you then you remember he isn't here to comfort you but rather someone else through you. Give it up woman! I wish I could extend to you the gift you give me in eternity but I'm at the beginning still, a child still, I'm learning how to tie my shoes and butter my own toast. Still. 

My mother read Wordsworth to me when I was little. Wordsworth and Keats and Ladies Home Journal. Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates and Grey Sprite the Silver Knight. Nobody was happier when I began to try my voice. Nobody ruined my body harder in order to point beyond it. In the presence of the snake, one learns quickly to be charming. "You can't handle the truth," and other bromides that may or may not be helpful on your knees behind the church.

And poetry, always poetry.

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