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Posts Tagged ‘blessing’


 
We wandered through green gentians higher than 
our heads. Vast fields of larkspur, monkshood, paintbrush.
Sour scent of hemlock, earthy scent 
of osha. Stones upturned by bears in search
 
of grubs. A hundred times we gasped, enraptured
by the aspen’s greens. And every step,
a blessing. Every step a chance to praise.
Some days we can’t remember what it is
 
we wish we could forget, rare days when ache 
can’t find us, days when we wade deeper in
to splendor, oh the largess of such days
when we know well the frailty of life
 
but feeling held, forget our helplessness. 
 

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A Blessing


 
 
At the edge of forest 
and field, a dappled fawn 
wobbles through tall 
grass, each step halting, 
delicate. Around her, 
the sweet clover blooms 
in a yellow haze. Ash 
sifts, from the nearby wildfire.
Scent of burning, scent 
of change. Lyric variations 
of the song sparrow 
thread the air as if he is
stitching together all 
that is here. Not pictured,
but no less present: 
You. The sparrow. The flame. 
The fawn steps into the open 
to walk inside me, weaves 
through a sea of shifting greens. 
Long after she disappears, 
she does not leave.
 

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They, too, once had gardens filled 
with succulent dark leaves and firm
swollen roots they planted to feed 
their family, their community, themselves. 
They, too, would walk the rows and tug 
at weeds and make small, quirky bouquets
to take to the graves of their loved ones. 
I don’t know why their gardens are gone now. 
Perhaps covered in ash from wildfire. 
Perhaps bombed out and torn up by war. 
Perhaps transformed to dust by drought. 
Or perhaps they are simply too old now 
to pick up the trowel, the shovel,
the hoe. But the women remember 
how they marveled at the pea vines climbing 
the fence to produce a profusion of sweet 
green pods dangling on the wire. 
I long to feed them from these beds, 
if not the food itself, feed them at least the ongoing
dream of garden, as someday I, too,
will be offered the dream through the hands 
and thoughts of another woman who finds herself
standing in the midst of abundance longing
to share it with all the women who can’t 
find their way into the garden today.
Not knowing how to bless them, I bless them anyway
as I have been blessed, and I transplant calendula,
deadhead the cosmos, harvest
heads of garlic, brush the loose dirt away. 

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May You Be Happy


 
 
When I cannot 
offer you this most
simple blessing, 
it’s because I’ve 
forgotten 
for this moment 
who I am. 
I remember now.
Child of sunrise. 
Beloved of the rain.
Sibling of silence.
Lost one who rows
through oceans of stars.
Found one who 
has been forgiven 
when forgiveness
seemed impossible.
What I mean to say—
I am grouchy. 
Still. I am trying.
What I mean to say—
cursing the drought
has never once
made it rain. 
What I mean to say—
may you be happy.

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    with thanks to James Crews
 
 
My friend James calls it the rough blessing,
the blessing that rubs, that chafes,
that scrapes. Perhaps I wanted blessings
to only feel good, to be gentle. But the word itself
comes from the practice of sprinkling blood
on an altar. Why should I be surprised when
the blood for the rite is my own? I am thinking
of how today when I was hemorrhaging fear,
my friend comforted me when I called her in tears.
I felt so loved when she listened and soothed.
Such luminous intimacy grew from my wound.
Oh, ache of being human. Oh, the blessing.

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Bowing at the Feet of the Ordinary


May I remember this day
with its two-hundred twenty two
miles of pavement and my
daughter beside me and both
of us singing her favorite songs.
Remember this day not because
it was special but because
it was the way it always is,
with us laughing and talking
and sitting in easy silence.
With a stop at the car wash
and her grumbling about vacuuming,
then doing it anyway. With
a stop at the coffee shop
and me grumbling about
cake pops, then buying one
anyway. With the sweetness
of ripe Cresthaven peaches
we bought at the roadside stand—
how the juice dripped down our chins.
With the rich green of late summer
a blur out the window. The day
so infused with commonplace
love I never once doubted
I belonged with my girl, in that car,
in the world, in the universe,
the days getting shorter
but still so luminous, so warm.

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It’s warm and steady,
this rain that soaks me.
Perhaps all those tears
this afternoon were practice
for walking in this soft
and relentless baptism
that gathers wetly now
in my lashes, my hair,
my pants, my socks,
my shoes, claiming me
in a damp communion
so complete, so shining,
so dripping with soggy luck
that I choose to walk in it
for hours, evermore certain
I belong to the world.

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A Blessing

Dear Friends, 

This one is for you. And for everyone. May deep peace find us–even in places it seems impossible. Even when it’s beyond our own capacity, may it grow in us, surprise us again and again. 
Rosemerry

A Blessing

And if there is peace to be found,
may it remake you
the way the sunrise
remakes each morning,
the way birdsong
remakes the air,

may peace find you
again and again,
and may it shape
and reshape you
the way the river
creates its bed
simply by flowing.

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What I Can Offer


for S & J

I want to give you something
necessary as rain and lasting as honey,
something useful as a spoon,
something helpful as wheels.

Sometimes it feels so inadequate
to offer you a poem, a prayer,
the small light of a candle,
a hammock woven only of blessings.

Still, as you meet these difficult hours
I wish you the peace of the amber field,
wish you the rose quartz of dawn.

Because it’s what I can do, I offer you poems,
prayers, the small flame of a candle, and
a hammock of blessings woven with dark, with light.

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So Alive

After a late summer rain,
when the low sun shines
through the still-dripping world,
I walk in the garden and slip my hands
into the lettuce rows,
easily pulling up small green heads,
the leaves not yet bitter and tough.
Oh, the beauty of things in their prime.
Soon enough, the snow will be here,
the garden a drift of white.
No way to preserve this green for winter,
so I take it into me, dirt and all,
stuffing the leaves into my mouth.
I take in the green and the diamonding dew,
take in the golden light,
take in the sound of the river
and the growing shadows.
There are moments I understand
what blessing is. In this moment,
it looks exactly like what is.


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