goldfinch stealing
into the thorn bush—
oh heart, bless you
for being willing, please
don’t follow him in
Posts Tagged ‘heartache’
One Scratched Up
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, goldfinch, heart, heartache, poem, poetry, thorns on May 15, 2019| Leave a Comment »
After a Difficult Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cleaning, heartache, poem, poetry, song on October 13, 2015| 1 Comment »
Because my heart is aching,
I clean the stove. It’s covered
in dark brown stains, stains
so burned on they seem
to be part of the stainless steel.
Because I am practical, I wear
plastic gloves while I scour.
I know that the cleaner
would ripple my fingers and dry
my skin for days. And because
I would rather not cry right now,
I turn on my music and play
Joni Mitchell as loud as the speakers
will play. She always knows
just what to say. There are some
places now where the stovetop gleams
so silver it looks nearly new. There
are some stains I know, that no matter
how many hours I scrub,
they will never leave.
Living by Breaking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heartache, love, opening, poem, poetry on June 4, 2014| 4 Comments »
The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking.
Stanley Kunitz, “Testing Tree”
Like any other muscle,
the heart, when injured,
will clench, and will stay that way
for a long, long time, most likely
long past the time of usefulness.
But when it relaxes again,
perhaps because it has been touched
in just the right way, or perhaps
just because it is exhausted
with its own clenching, well then
it is like when the sun hits the forest
in late morning and releases the scent
of pine and greening leaves.
And it is like when you walk past a spring
and a dozen blue butterflies all brush
you with their wings, a feeling so impossibly
soft and tender that you cannot help
but let the heart stay open, though you know
it will be wounded again. It is not
in the end the heart itself that matters.
It is the practice of releasing again, again.
While Listening to the Physical Therapist, I Think of my Friend
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, hamstring pull, heartache, physical therapy, poem, poetry on November 8, 2013| 3 Comments »
It is not so much
what you do to heal, she said,
but that you stop doing
the things that hurt.
The PT speaks of
my hamstring, but I
think about my aching friend,
and wonder if the heart
responds like any other muscle.
Perhaps if we could
stop from doing what
we know makes the pain
increase, like reaching
toward impossible things,
it would be easier to heal.
We are, perhaps,
slow learners. We
are, perhaps, like the children
who say of a scrape, It only hurts
when I touch it, and then
touch it all day to be sure
it still hurts.
The PT goes on to say
she does not mean
I should do nothing.
You can find other things
that don’t hurt to do.
She calls it active rest.
There are many things
a woman can do without
using her left hamstring.
Read. Laugh. Knit. Sing.
Stand on her right leg.
Kiss. Still the longing
to do what hurts—to run—
as if it’s the only thing.
Just as my friend with the pull in her heart
wants to reach and reach again, as if
it might hurt less, not more,
if she keeps practicing.
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