ALWAYS WAKING UP

(10/10/18)

(Bernice D., 61, Blessings CT)

At 59,

on a sleepy, sultry day

she saw, for the first time,

that each moment was made new,

and that she, too, was always new --

a fresh, stirred up assembly of cells

every single second.

She saw that, in a sense,

she was always waking up,

and she realized

that she couldn’t help it,

that rousing and rising

was just what the universe always does,

constantly and endlessly

spurring itself on.

She realized that even

the airless languor of the day

was continually awakening

into new and unspoiled airless languor,

and that even her fears and sorrows

were unceasingly bestirring themselves

into unprecedented designs

so she could better see and understand them

 in every respect

in this always newly-alert world.

SAILING WITH JOY

(3/23/18, revised 4/23/18)

Around a bend came joy like a boat,
and I jumped aboard. The world watched,
and the sun sat in a tree and laughed.
The minutes made music, the hours gave
us golden gifts. Sadness went down to
the sea and died, and worry wandered off
to find another friend. I waved to old
depression, slumped on the shore. Just
a morning – just me and a breeze I
know, and joy with her biggest sails.

LISTENING TO LA BOHEME

The streets are gray like the grayness 
of the good hearts of heartbroken people. 
This music makes him hold out his 
hands to them. They hear the music of 
sadness, these mighty hearts made sad 
by a sun that never seems to rise. He 
sits inside himself with the friendship 
of the music. He wishes he had some 
friendless people beside him, bringing 
the golden light they’ve forgotten they have. 

AT 4:51 PM

The sun was just starting to set

when he suddenly understood.

It was so clear.

He understood these simple truths –

that every sign along the roads

was placed there by a person

who had worked with focus

to finish the task –

that every part in every passing car

was installed by a person

with a hard-working heart

and hands that sometimes held other hands –

that every shirt on every driver’s back

was made by workers in a factory

who often found satisfaction

in producing a simple but splendid shirt –

that every clock in every house

holds millions of special moments –

that the setting sun is glorious

whether anyone notices it or not.   

NEWNESS

He felt it in his fingers.

It followed him at home and school,

and slept all around his house

when he slept. There was newness

in the fields of words he found

when he opened a book in the morning,  

and in the face of every student

in his classes. All his thoughts

were new, even if he didn’t know it,

and there was nothing but new light

in every unfolding moment,

although he sometimes didn’t see it,

didn’t see the flash of lightning

in the center of every occurrence.

AFTER FIVE YEARS

(for Charlie Wright)

After five years, he came back to us

as quiet as the clear sky above our school.

To us, it was as if all the leaves on all the lawns

had suddenly been swept away by a wondrous force,

or the imprisoning clouds had been pushed aside

so the stars could use their grace and goodness

above us. It was as if all things

were made new. His conversations sounded

like songs, and his handshakes were silent

expressions of thanks that he was with us again.

This school, to him, was like a sacred city once again,

and his simplest thoughts seemed like visions

of what could still be done.

We were lucky he let us be with him again.

Standing beside him was somehow like being special,

as special as this small,

sparkling school he loves so much.