power out—
an invitation to fall in love
with darkness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, poem, poetry, power outage on February 23, 2017| Leave a Comment »
power out—
an invitation to fall in love
with darkness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, joy, poem, poetry, wushdan on January 24, 2017| 5 Comments »
In dark times it is sometimes hard
to speak of joy—not because
it doesn’t exist but because
of the guilt in feeling it.
The dark clots our arteries,
it keens in our ears, floods the streets.
Still, my friend sends me a word—
wushdan. It’s pronounced like swush,
she says, not swoosh. Wushdan.
I say it aloud, and the syllables
hush my tongue. It means,
she says, “heart awareness,
conscience,” as in a practice
of inner discipline. Wushdan,
I say again, as if to speak a word
is to know the secrets harboring
inside it for centuries.
The root, says my friend, is wush,
which is Persian, means joy.
It feels as if someone
has slipped me a piece of chocolate
in math class during a test.
Or as if, while reading
the headlines of war I look out
the window and see the big brown eyes
of a doe looking unwaveringly
into mine. And I put the paper down
and watch out the window
until the light is gone.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, light, peace, poem, poetry on December 18, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Let us lace our words with light—
the fragrant light we carry in our flesh.
Even the darkest words can be said
with light, can be spoken with a seam
of radiance, spoken as if the whole world
depends on us finding that inner shine
and sharing it.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, light, poem, poetry on December 16, 2016| Leave a Comment »
first there was darkness
and from that ink
was written all the light
that ever was,
all the light that ever will be,
please, write again soon
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, poem, poetry on May 17, 2016| 1 Comment »
on a night
without starlight
learning
to know darkness
as the other greatest gift
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, darkness, night, poem, poetry, self, union on January 28, 2016| 3 Comments »
the dark is less dark
and the shapes of the world
reveal again their singular shapes—
I know they don’t really lose their lines in the dark,
but I like to imagine all those newly
illumined silhouettes
have spent the night blurred, puddled
into one immense darkness,
forgetting for a while
that they have any lines
worth preserving.
It is enough to make a woman
wish that the light
would never come
if that is what it takes
to make us all remember
how arbitrary they are,
these boundaries we like
to call ourselves.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, poem, poetry on January 22, 2016| 1 Comment »
You darkness that I come from, I love you
—Rainier Maria Rilke
not the moon, but
the darkness around the moon
this love
*
given prison bars
the darkness
slips right through
*
darkness in the tea—
I bring it into me
cup after cup
*
standing at the edge
the first step
is the only step
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, friendship, poem, poetry on November 11, 2015| 5 Comments »
for U and E
Dark and getting darker—
nothing to do but to make of the body
a home for darkness,
to open every secret drawer
where we hide our private darknesses.
Who knows what might happen then?
How immeasurable we are. It is only
terrifying until it becomes freedom.
Grace comes in the strangest costumes.
Did you really think you didn’t need help?
This night, stay awake.
Some things we can see no other way.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, fear, night, parenting, peotry, poem on November 9, 2015| 2 Comments »
So dark out there,
of course you’re scared
and want to hide
inside,
but notice how
when you turn off
the lights—I know
it sounds unwise—
that’s when you’ll find
that it’s not black
but gray, the night,
and you can see
quite well once you
let darkness open
slowly up your eyes.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Art, darkness, light, poem, poetry, shadow on October 1, 2015| 1 Comment »
So first, you imagine the light bulb,
he says, then he draws one on the page
so I won’t have to imagine too hard.
And then, he says, you draw a dark line
under the object, assuming that there
will not be much light underneath it.
He moves his pencil forcefully
to darken the bottom of the square.
Next, he says, you move your hand
as far from the light as possible
and make it darker there.
I watch as he fills in the spaces
where white has been.
There is something vital
in all of us that leans toward the dark.
I notice the depth that the shadows
have brought to the page, so like the shadow
into which we are pulled and pulled.
Even now, the darkest parts of us
are kindling our greatest light.