Like a pale blue ribbon,
soft and lovely,
your words are woven
through the nest that has held me
since the merciless shot of loss.
Your poems meet me again and again
with their open eyes
and their open hands.
They say, Rest here,
sweetheart. I understand.
You, with your pilgrim heart,
your insistence on devotion,
you have cradled me
with your honesty.
Long before I knew
I needed to be saved,
your words found me,
stitched through me with love
as if that is what words are for.
*
Dear friends, here is where you can find out more about the remarkable Gregory Orr.
And here is where you can find one of his poems that has saved me in the past year.
Your poem, his poem, both so gentle, thoughtful, restful. One of my favorite lines from one of Orr’s poems is “But if we’re not meant to dance, why all this music?”
Oh yes! Such a beautiful line–and such truth in it …
Love to you. And thank you for this poem. And for Orr’s too.
Thank you, Juhi. Orr’s poem has been a constant friend for me. I even found a little tune for it so I can sing it and often it comes to me. ❤️
Rosemerry, he has written his memoir, titled The Blessing. He is one who knows grief well.
Oh yes, yes–not only knows grief well, but shares it so beautifully … so that we might meet it with more honesty, more grace. I honor his path
Thank you for placing Orr in my path. I just posted one of his poems on my FB page.
In the looking at his poems, I found this one:
Trauma (Storm)
Hunkered down, nerve-numb,
in the carnal hut,
the cave of self,
while outside a storm
rages.
Huddled there,
rubbing together
white sticks of
your own ribs,
praying for sparks
in that dark
where tinder is heart,
where tender is not.
Love you, amiga.
oh! I didn’t know this one!
thank you dear man