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Posts Tagged ‘abundance’

New Dream




Why do I resist this room
with its wall of windows,
its low-angled light,
the tables all laden
with apples and mangos
and long braids of bread?
Why do I feel myself
leaning away
from miraculous abundance,
white linen cloths,
and pale yellow bouquets?
This cake is sweet
but I cannot taste it.
Surrounded by food,
I have a different hunger.
Surrounded with lushness,
I feel a different need.
Sometimes what the heart
most craves is
nothing—
the fast between the feasts,
the spaciousness
filled only by love.
I am not afraid
of emptiness.
I need what I need,
and it’s spare.
Thank you for the feast—
I don’t mean to be ungrateful.
There is beauty, too,
in barrenness.
I don’t want to fill
this hole.

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for Sherry Richert Belul

 

 

With a LOVE stamp, the woman I’ve never met

mailed me five dollars, “to be a reminder

that abundance can come unexpectedly,”

 

she wrote, and sitting with her letter in my lap,

I thought of last night’s snow—

five white inches that fell after midnight

 

and softened the whole hard world.

And I thought of the orchid on my mantle

that sprouted a new stem of purple buds

 

even as the other stem continued to bloom.

And I thought of my office mate bringing in

nine tins of exotic teas to share. And my daughter

 

sending me a text to say she loved me “soooo much.”

And I thought of a woman in a town a thousand

miles away, a woman I have never met,

 

who thought, “I think I’ll send five dollars

to someone who brought abundance into my life.”

How simple it is to manifest unforeseen joy.

 

How clear the invitation to extend gratitude,

to spread good will, to remind each other

how the world will offer itself, will open

 

and open and open, how we, ourselves,

are the agents of the world.

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The cupboards, she discovers,

have little to offer, but she

finds in a corner some purple potatoes,

 

and, on slicing them thin, finds

white and purple patterns

swirled like stained glass.

 

She approves. Pours oil

in the skillet. Nods at the splatter

when the potatoes slide in.

 

A cauliflower in the back

of the fridge. Yes. She breaks

off florets and adds them.

 

Some tofu. She crumbles it,

scrambles it, lets the foods meld.

Then lemon. Then rosemary.

 

Then chile. Then wait. She stirs.

She tastes. There are times

when out of what seems to be nothing,

 

we find magnificence. Enough

to share. Enough to make us think

abundance is hiding everywhere.

 

 

 

 

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now around every corner

they are no less thrilling

bright lady slippers in the woods

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Prodigal

After all this time
you still pour
pure water
into my chipped cup.
You know
I will spill and still
you pour,
and you pour.
You know, too,
how even
despite great thirst
I will sometimes
refuse to drink,
how even when
the water doesn’t
reach my lips
they are still
blessed
with your giving.

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