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Posts Tagged ‘faith’

Despite the News

 

 

 

Again the rain,

and I wander

the tender green grass

of the field.

The hands pull weeds

because the hands

want something to do.

And the mind looks

for morels, because the mind

wants something to do.

And the feet wander,

because they are born

nomads. And the heart

opens. Not because

it wants to, but

because there is something

in the scent of rain

that suggests

so much is possible,

even, against all odds,

beauty. Even, though

it seems impossible,

another day.

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Reading seed catalogs

on an eight degree morning,

how improbable they look,

those royal chantenay carrots,

those pink seashell cosmos,

those bright sugar snap peas,

so greenly dangling.

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Season

 

 

 

Where yesterday

there were no morels

today there are—

 

dozens of them,

small blond bouquets

in the grass.

 

I think about kindnesses.

How sometimes

they arrive

 

out of what seems

an absence.

How in that absence

 

it seems impossible

to believe that kindness

will ever return.

 

How delicious

the morels were tonight

in the cream,

 

so earthy, so rich,

so generous.

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not the long-stemmed kind you buy in the store,

but the kind that thrives on neglect,

thrives despite drought, despite desolation,

grows rambunctious despite crummy soil,

 

the wild roses you find as you walk

through the edges of desert, find them not by sight

but because of the siren song of their scent—

pink and stirring and plucky.

 

I am famished for beauty today,

the kind that survives

when the world is hostile,

the kind that arrives above thorns,

 

living books of a thousand petals unfolding,

a wild beauty almost impossible to eradicate,

the kind that sends acres of runners and roots.

I believe in such beauty. It’s found me before.

 

 

 

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the seed company sends their catalog

with 162 full-color pages of vegetables ready

 

to harvest. From snap peas and bush beans

to shallots and quinoa, plus every shape

 

and curl of leafy green—red ursa, red ruffled,

red Russian, Bolshoi. This is the same night

 

my son asks me as he falls asleep to explain

the difference between science and religion.

 

One, I say, is based on fact. The other,

I say, is based on faith. Though tonight,

 

as the temperature falls below ten,

and I regard the carrots, dark orange

 

and almost glowing off of page 29,

I begin to wonder how different

 

the two really are. I notice how the promise

of a slow-bolting, scab resistant

 

varietal sounds like a psalm I love—

the Lord, it says, will keep you from all harm—

 

and I look at the Royal Chatenays

and the Yaya Nantes and say out loud

 

to the dark kitchen windows and

to the cold winter air, I believe, I believe.

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Example

 

 

 

Above my window

two tiny hummingbird beaks

hover just beyond the edge of a nest

which is smaller than my hand—

this, I think, is what it looks like,

the start of a long, long journey.

By fall, they will be in Mexico.

They don’t even know yet

they can fly.

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One Definition of Faith

 

 

 

toeing the edge

of everything

we think we know

building a nest for us

on the other side

 

 

 

 

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Perhaps This is Faith

My fingers slip

as the hand holds crumble,

but I am so high

and I know there

are others below me

so I climb on strength

that is not mine,

though I cannot see

the destination nor

can I imagine how

I will keep going,

but I keep going,

I keep going,

one hand reaching

higher, then the other.

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So when I said,
God, sometimes
I am just so tired,
she said, (and it wasn’t
really a she, but it wasn’t
really a he, either),
she said, yeah,
not as if she were going
to change anything
more as if she knew
exactly what I meant.
And then I said,
God, I’m sorry.
I guess you’ve seen
all the bad stuff
I have done.
And she said,
yes, not as if
she thought
I’d been bad, more
as if she believed
I were truly sorry.
And then I said,
though it scared me
to say it, God,
sometimes I don’t
believe in you.
She nodded,
though it were
more like a wave,
like a current,
like a swell
than a nod,
and she said
nothing, as if
she didn’t want
to prove me wrong.

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