The woman who knows what to write
did not show up today. Perhaps she’s gone
hiking amongst the blue larkspur, or
maybe she’s pulling weeds in the garden.
Perhaps she got a job as a counselor or a priest,
or decided to run for political office.
I wish she’d show up again. Sometimes
it’s not easy to face the blank, to believe
there are any words worth writing. Like today,
when I read about how the abandoned fracking wells
are leaking pollutants. How today will be
the first federal execution in seventeen years.
How there are still children at the border
still crying, “¡Mami!” and “¡Papá!”
Perhaps she was simply so sad
that she went to sit in a corner, quietly,
not to forget, but to find the strength to meet it.
Perhaps she is, even now, trying to conjure
the words that might actually make a difference.
Your words are beautiful. May you find the strength. I am still looking for mine.
Patricia/Fl
Thank you, Patricia–may we all find it.
There’s the challenge isn’t it. How to make words make a difference.
and I know they do, and yet, and yet … could they do more??? what else is called for??
I have decided that I alone can’t make the change I desire but that my honest words can contribute my bit.
“White Buffalo” should be the name of your next poem.
Oh for that kind of hope …
I’ve passed this along to friends who care about these things. They are heartened by your words–your focus–your concerns….Thanks.
Thank you friend … oh how I long to know the next right thing to do, to feel that impulse, to follow it.