There are cups on my shelf
I will never use—
cups that will never hold tea
nor water nor coffee.
It brings me such joy
they are there, though,
filled, as they are,
with memories.
Perhaps this is how
I begin to teach
the thirstiest parts of me
that a cup without something
tangible in it
is not always empty.
Posts Tagged ‘emptiness’
Ode to the Empty Cup
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cup, emptiness, memory, thirst on May 3, 2023| 12 Comments »
Exemplar
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, emptiness, loss, nest on November 3, 2022| 7 Comments »
It hides in the rafters,
this tightly woven nest of grass,
brown and humble,
lined with mud.
I would like to hold
this messy vessel in my hands,
as if to hold is understand.
I would like to know
what the nest knows—
how to hold what is fragile,
how to keep life safe,
how it is to be made to be useful,
how it is to be made to be left.
How beautiful it can be
to hold emptiness.
The Inconceivable
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emptiness, grief, loss, love, space on April 27, 2022| 6 Comments »
Nothing can separate us from love.
There is no way to know this
without paying a cost so great
some part of us longs to bargain
with the universe and trade back
the priceless truth. But part of us—
the part that cannot be named,
the part that wakes at dawn,
the part that sings in the darkness,
the part that wades in the infinite—
it’s not so much that this part says yes,
more that it simply expands with the truth,
much as the universe itself expands
due to a dark, mysterious energy.
Any scientist will tell you,
empty space is not nothing.
We who grieve learn
to hold that empty space
and know it as love.
I know, it’s inconceivable.
We feel how it holds us, too.
More
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aspen, emptiness, love, sunset, trees, winter on January 26, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Inspired by dark and naked aspen,
she’s been practicing emptiness—
perhaps you, too, have seen the way
that barren arms can better hold
the changing colors of the sky.
The less she holds, the more love
seems to fill her, pours into her
like the winter sunset, vast and brilliant.
All these years she thought the point
was to be full. Now she marvels
at how resonant she is without
so much clutter—how resounding,
the honest beating of her heart.
Taking Down the Tree
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Christmas, emptiness, poem, poetry on January 3, 2020| Leave a Comment »
the room so bare
where just hours ago
there was light—
remembering now
how to celebrate emptiness
One Soon
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anticipation, bird, blue heron, emptiness, poem, poetry on January 27, 2019| Leave a Comment »
driving past the great nests,
my mind fills in the empty air—
dozens of blue heron wings
Easter Eve
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, easter, emptiness, fullness, poem, poetry on March 31, 2018| 2 Comments »
On the table, a letter to the Easter Bunny—
the girl has written it in blue pen
thanking him for the joy he brings.
Beside the letter, two baskets
filled with empty plastic eggs.
So much inside wants to be filled. Or so
we believe. Tomorrow morning,
the baskets will be for a moment empty,
the eggs, hidden, ridiculous with candy.
Oh the things we use to stave the void!
There is beauty in barrenness—
just outside the window, the world
is trying to prove it, the field no longer
steeped in snow, yet not yet verdant
and green. And still it’s lovely, a stark,
splendor. though perhaps we need
to recalibrate to see.
Every Easter, she writes, I wake up
soooooooooo excited to find the eggs.
I think of the field, how it takes
no belief for it to fill, for it to burgeon.
And still it is no less magic. I think
of the girl, her joy in giving the Easter Bunny
her most beautiful egg, how she’s learning
the art of emptying. I hope you like it, she writes.
I tell her, I think the Easter Bunny
will cry, tears leaving my eyes, not sure
if I feel more empty, more full.
The Need for Absence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged absence, emptiness, poem, poetry, shoveling, snow on January 7, 2018| 4 Comments »
For an hour and a half, my son and I
create emptiness. All those places
where there was snow
on the drive and the walk,
we shovel them until there’s a long,
sinewy swath of absence.
It is deeply satisfying,
this moving of matter
from one place to another,
creating a path, a way.
When we are done, we lean
on our shovels and revel
in what is missing. We high five
and smile and feel as if we’ve really
accomplished something together.
How oddly full I feel
after this effort of emptying.
How many paths in me
are waiting to be exposed?
December 20
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, emptiness, light, poem, poetry, winter solstice on December 21, 2017| Leave a Comment »
One of the rooms
in the longest night
has an empty chair
and an open book—
and in the book
is an empty page
full of light—
if you read it
long enough
you might forget
what an hour is,
or night,
forget all stories
besides this one,
older than scripture,
where everything
is possible.
One the Day After
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cat, death, emptiness, loss, poem, poetry on October 25, 2017| Leave a Comment »