Thank you for the pep talk.
When your teacher asked you
to record messages in the phone,
you could not have known
one day your innocent words
would reach this woman in Colorado
and I would sit in my car
and stare at a mountain and press 4
to listen to children laughing
and press 3 to hear a room full of kindergarteners
shouting YOU CAN DO IT,
and it would make me weep.
I imagine you do not yet understand
how something so beautiful
could make a person sob—
a complex, but very real emotion
we don’t have a word for in English.
But perhaps you are already learning
of the ripple effect: How kindness
brings hope. How hope opens us.
How being open can make people cry.
My friend Paula explained it to me this way.
That’s what friends do—
they share the truth with you.
Oh, young friends I have never met,
I thank you for the ripple,
for the way it has recharged in me a tide
so deep that currents leak out.
Thank you for restoring the great inner ocean
that sometimes turns desert, goes dry.
Thank you for reminding me,
pwease, do something you wike,
something that inspiwes you.
I remember now. Oh bless these salty tears.
I remember.
*
If you, too, could use a pep talk, or even if you don’t need one, call anyway: 707-873-7862
Posts Tagged ‘kindness’
Dear Students of West Side School
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, kids, kindergarten, kindness, school on November 11, 2022| 8 Comments »
When My Friend’s Husband Brings Us a Morning Treat
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grandmother, kindness, mango, service, sweetness, time on October 18, 2022| 10 Comments »
I want to go back in years
and find my grandmother Rose
when she is living in Illinois
with my grandfather,
a cruel and angry man.
I want to meet her
on a cold snowy day
when the world feels small
and she feels smaller,
and I want to serve her
a bowl of ripe mango
with a squeeze of lime.
I would love to see her face
when she tasted it—
the orange flesh
that sings of sunshine,
warmth, and the far away.
Would she love it
the way I do this morning,
astonished by the goodness
that exists in the world?
Would she thrill,
as I do, in the surprise
of being served?
As it is, I delight in sitting
on a deep red couch with my friend,
sighing as we slip the soft cubes
into our mouths,
making lists of people
we long to feed mango—
like Beethoven, like Etty Hillesum,
like my grandmother,
who likely never tasted
a mango, my grandmother,
who knew so little of kindness.
Over sixty years later,
I long to serve her mango
to make her feel seen,
cared for, special,
astonished by the sweetness
of the world.
Big Lesson
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged community, connection, kindness on October 11, 2022| 3 Comments »
Today it feels so simple:
we are here to take care of each other.
How could we ever forget?
As if soil could forget
it is here to feed the trees.
As if trees could forget
they are here to feed the soil.
How could anything
ever get in the way of generosity?
How could we ever greet each other
with any words besides,
How can I help you?
As if light could forget
it is here to help illuminate.
As if dark could forget
it is here to help us heal.
Pricklesome
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, prickly, seeds on September 17, 2022| 10 Comments »
Piercing the softest sweater I own
are dozens of thin black seeds,
needle-sharp and needle-stiff.
Their purpose: to spread.
They prick, they lance, they jab, they spear.
They refuse to be ignored.
It took only seconds for them to attach,
but to extricate them?
Today, again, I was reminded
how I do not wish
to be a carrier of sharp things.
I do not wish to sow what is prickly,
do not want to propagate
what might bring pain to someone else.
The world continues to teach me,
Be soft. Spread kindness, only kindness.
That is the voice I most wish to hear.
I pull the dark seeds from the fabric.
I place them where they will never take root.
The night air kisses my skin where they were.
Perennial
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flower, friendship, kindness, sweetness on July 20, 2021| 1 Comment »
Sometimes even a small sweetness—
a kind word, a kind act—
is robust enough to take root,
and though its perfume soon fades
and its petals wither,
the roots persist so years later
when you least expect it,
there in a forgotten field,
or perhaps in your own well-tended yard,
you catch the scent of sweetness
and follow it until you find again
the fragrant bloom of it, not at all
diminished by time. No, maybe sweeter
because it was forgotten.
Sweeter because with roots like that,
you now trust it will come back again.
Another Reason to Be Kinder
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, news, tenderness, war on May 17, 2021| 2 Comments »
Somewhere I’ve never been
reaches across the ocean
and wrenches my thoughts.
I don’t try to push it away.
I let the ache in,
let sorrow do its terrible
work. It slices in
deeper than I want it to,
but I do not resist.
All day I think of the small child
being pulled from the rubble.
All day I think of the many hands
reaching for small frightened body.
All day, I am softened by
grief, ravaged into tenderness.
Small Things
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, father, kindness, small steps on November 25, 2020| 4 Comments »
Small things aren’t just important,
says my father. They’re everything.
And I think of how,
night after night, he’d lie
on his back on the floor
and bench press me
as I stood with one foot
in each of his hands.
Years later, every morning
he’d lift me with a phone call—
This is the Broadmoor. This is your
morning wake up call.
He’d say it in his snootiest,
haughtiest British butler voice.
And years later,
when we hold hands
he rubs his thumb across my thumb,
a small, familiar gesture of love.
Now, wishing I could hold
his hand while we sit
in different rooms together
a thousand miles away,
I can almost feel
the pad of his thumb
move across my knuckles
the way wind moves over water
and creates the weather.
It lifts me.
It’s everything.
On International Kindness Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged car, engine, kindness, power on November 13, 2020| 6 Comments »
Kindness went out and got itself
a new engine—a four-hundred horsepower
twin turbo 3.3 liter V-6 engine.
Something with real oomph.
Something that provides a bit of giddy-up
when the loving gets tough. Turns out
kindness likes horsepower.
A lot of horsepower. Plus it sprung
for direct fuel injection to maximize
its power output. Everyone thinks
kindness prefers things quiet and calm,
but kindness is ready for action—
ready to take on the world,
ready to travel every back road,
every highway, every main street
and get this ever-loving show on the road.
There’s a whole lot of loving to do.
Suggestion for a Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, division, kindness, silence, speaking on November 3, 2020| 4 Comments »
And if today we speak at all,
let us speak in golden leaf.
Let’s converse in low clear stream,
whisper in rose-hip pink.
And if we speak at all today,
let’s slip mulch between each word,
aware that what we say will grow—
how powerful the words we sow.
And if we speak at all,
let’s speak in mountain, speak in field,
speak only words that lift and heal,
speak only words that lift and heal.
And if we speak,
let’s listen for the quiet in between—
plant tulip bulbs in the silences.
And crocuses. And grace.
And any words with thorns in them,
let’s set them down. Let’s lose them.
And if our words don’t open like sky,
let’s let the sky do all the talking.
Together
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, personal responsibility, perspective, poem, space, togetherness on July 19, 2020| 11 Comments »
It smacks me, sometimes,
how connected we are—
though we draw boundaries,
build walls, fight wars,
call names, and kill. All it takes
is a photo of earth from space
and I’m stunned again,
how much we are in this together.
And though we’d rather not know it,
every choice we make
affects everyone, everything else.
Perhaps this is why I weep
when the woman I’ve barely met
embroiders me a sweater
with a word she knows I’ll love
and then brings it to my home.
Because it’s proof of kindness,
a confirmation that beauty
not only exists, it will lead us to each other.
How easily two strangers
might become friends.
It can happen anywhere
on this small blue and green planet—
anywhere two people co-exist,
the invitation to be generous,
thoughtful, to think of new ways
to be good to each other.
Each kindness a bridge that spans
the world’s flaws. Each moment,
another chance to build another bridge.