the wind tugs the leaves
off the aspen trees, many
before they’re golden—
children, I say, I love you,
and kiss their green ears
their green heads as I send
them to school,
tell them to go
do beautiful things
Posts Tagged ‘kindness’
After Waking to Terrible News
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, parenting, poem, poetry on October 2, 2017| 2 Comments »
On a Day When Hostility Rules the News
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, news, poem, poetry on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
And even as the countries aim their missiles at each other
and dangle threats and hurl names, the woman
in the hair salon gives you a deal because
in an hour you’ve shared dreams, shared fears.
And the bus driver helps you find your way.
And the tall man in the grocery store sees you reaching
for a box on the top shelf and offers to hand it to you.
Even as the congress argues and quarrels and stalls,
the little blonde boy you barely know snuggles into your lap
and tells you he loves you. Kindness continues to thrive,
Kindness breeds more kindnesses. Kindness
reminds you again that wherever you are,
you are home, that the world you most want
to live in is right here at the kitchen table,
right here on the noisy, crowded street.
Kindness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged distance, friendship, Jack and Julie Ridl, kindness, poem, poetry on July 3, 2017| 9 Comments »
for Jack and Julie
Though I am running on a dirt road in Colorado
my mind is in Michigan near a small pond
where dozens of stoic frogs rest around a stone Buddha.
The Buddha, I suppose, would disapprove
and tell me to let my thoughts be where I am,
but there is joy in letting them run free
and noticing where they choose to go.
They move from the pond up the steps and into a house,
then stroll into rooms where books
are piled in every corner and a new puppy
begs to be loved. We all want to be loved,
don’t we, which is perhaps why my thoughts
continue to run to this warm kitchen where
the tea pot is always ready with hot water
and there is a half-complete drawing
waiting on the table. Home of music,
home where poetry comes for pizza,
home where love is abundant as frogs
still resting there beside the Buddha.
Odd comfort in knowing that they are still there,
those frogs, even when I am not. Odd comfort
in finding the mind knows how to return,
though it’s over a thousand miles from here—
like one of those stories about the dogs
who, against all odds, return to their owners
though they’ve been dropped off many states away.
And why not return to the voices and stories
of people we love—why not trust our internal maps
to bring us closer? Why not bring them with us
on the long dirt road where the sky is darkening
and the mile markers blur into uncertain futures?
There is so little we can trust—but this detour
feels honest, real as the smile of the Buddha
as the frogs leap all around, real as the scent
of paprika and cheese, real as the laughter in the kitchen
so humble and alive the whole world leans in.
On American Flight 3589 to Grand Rapids
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, kindness, poem, poetry, travel, turbulence on June 23, 2017| 2 Comments »
We are entering turbulence, says the captain.
This plane does not do well with turbulence.
His voice crackles over the loudspeaker
just after the plane has begun to jostle in the sky.
I am not particularly worried about the plane.
The young engineer next to me in 14E has already
assured me that when considering safety factors,
the designers will double what is actually needed.
I am more worried about the captain’s choice of words.
It matters what we say to each other and how.
The ride will be turbulent, that would have sufficed.
Or perhaps, The ride will be turbulent,
it’s nothing to be concerned about.
The toddler in row 11 is screaming.
She would not feel better, regardless what
the captain said. Perhaps it is the mother in me
that longs to disregard the safety belt sign and go comfort her—
not so much for the child’s sake, but for her mother’s,
she looks so careworn and tired. I want to tell her,
It’s okay. This is just a short chapter.
I settle for a nod and a smile.
The truth is the world is full of turbulence.
The truth is it’s hard to hear anyone cry.
The truth is our work in the world
begins with comforting the people next to us,
strangers only until we take the first step.
Lenity
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, poem, poetry on May 18, 2017| Leave a Comment »
First it was the woman
who waved at me
through the spring snow.
I didn’t take it personally,
her kindness, more like
an accident that I happened
to be there. Then it was
the woman who forgave me
for being confused
about when I was supposed
to arrive. Then the woman
who hugged me for no reason
at all. And the man who
looked up and smiled.
And the friend who
played me a tune.
Kindnesses inside every hour.
All day. It was like stumbling
on a word I’ve never heard before,
and suddenly—how could I
have missed it all this time—
it’s everywhere.
Season
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged faith, kindness, morels, poem, poetry on May 13, 2017| 2 Comments »
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.
Kindness, An Invitation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, poem, poetry, wildflowers on July 11, 2016| 3 Comments »
perhaps by wind,
the first penstemon
entered the field
and flowered
and cast its seeds
and they flowered
and cast their seeds
and now the field
is full of tall, lovely
purple blooms—
look what one small
accidental beauty
can do.
How We Learn to Fly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, poem, poetry on June 1, 2016| 3 Comments »
for Deb D’Angelo
In a recent dream, I flew—
not so much for pleasure,
though it was that, also, rather
because it was clearly the next
thing to do.
On the trail, I did, perhaps, fly
for a moment,
my body spread into the air
above the rocky slope.
There was, maybe, a second
of curiousness—an inkling of thrill.
But then the horrible fact
of gravity. I did not want
to open my eyes for a long,
long time. I did not cry then,
not when I saw my hands,
blackened and bloodied.
Not when my shoulder
refused to rise. Though it hurt,
I knew it would all be fine.
I did not cry at the sting of soap
and water in the library sink.
I did not mind the stares
of the patrons confused
by the sight of my ripped up tights.
The librarian offered to tend to me,
finding me salve and applying
the bandages, fitting them
to angles they didn’t want to fit.
It was the look in her eyes that did it,
the gentleness, the warmth.
As she hugged me
like a daughter, like a friend,
like a human, I sobbed into her hair,
so moved by her kindness,
how she cared for me with such tender hands—
and for a moment, I swear I flew,
unafraid of how I would land.
Inc Lak Keig
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged humanity, i am the other you, kindness, poetry on August 20, 2013| 2 Comments »
A woman walks down the street.
It does not matter her name,
the color of her hair, her age,
or how she votes. What matters
is if you would go help her rise
when she trips and twists her ankle.
What matters is if you look openly
into her eyes when she is seeking yours.
What matters is if you see how she,
like you, is holding onto something dead
and has not quite yet managed to let
it go. There are cultures where people
greet each other, strangers and lovers,
by saying, I am the other you.
What matters is if, when you see the woman
walking on the street, you believe this is true.
In it Together
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cruelty, humanity, kindness, poem, poetry on April 23, 2013| 3 Comments »
Will you go with me,
circle no or yes.
That was all the note said,
signed Louie.
It passed hand to hand
beneath the tables
in the back of sixth-grade English.
I circled yes, sent it back,
and waited for Louie
after class by the door.
Perhaps a sign
of true love.
Three days later the Gooch
told me it was a joke.
Everyone knows, she said.
I called him that night
at his home. Is it true?
I asked him. He mumbled
something about how it had
all started that way, but
that he thought I was nice
and maybe we should
go together. He still
ignored me, like he always
did. Did not choose me
in gym to be on his side.
Did not sit at my table
at lunch. Did not chase me
at recess. Did not call.
Did not send any more notes
on wide-rule paper.
I don’t remember now
if I cried. But I wonder
tonight what kind of man
he became, and if he
perhaps came to have
a daughter who was,
like me, the third most
unpopular girl in the class.
And just what would he
say to the neighbor boy who would
treat his girl like that?
And who have I hurt?
Who sits in the kitchen
late at night and then,
for no reason, recalls the time
that I made them feel small.
I am sorry, whoever you are.
Forgive me. I am learning
this art of humanity
hour by hour by hour.
Sign up for my daily poem!
Archives
Meta
