with enormous thanks to Kristen
In this story, the grave keeper
is a woman named Kristen.
She plants grass seed
where soils have been disturbed.
She pulls weeds by the roots
instead of poisoning them.
She learns the birthdays of the dead.
When a mother comes to sit
by her child’s tombstone,
the grave keeper gives her space,
but as the mother leaves,
she offers her a quiet smile, a hug.
Kristen knows the name of the child.
In this story, when the mother
leaves the graveyard,
dead flowers in her hands,
she is filled with no less grief,
but there is something generous
alive in her now, too,
soft as the new grass that thrives
around her son’s headstone,
loving as the grave keeper’s voice
when she whispered, Happy Birthday.
When the mother tells this story,
she weeps every time.
It’s not for sorrow
tears slip from her eyes.
Posts Tagged ‘kindness’
True Story
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cemetery, generosity, graveyard, kindness, labor day, loss, tears on September 16, 2023| 9 Comments »
Aftermath
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, flowers, kindness on August 29, 2023| 10 Comments »
Those seeds you planted
in me with your words—
all through the night they rooted,
grew stems, sprouted leaves.
By morning, I’m in full bloom,
my thoughts a rebellion of petals,
a mutiny of beauty
where once only shadows spread.
All day, your words unfold
in layers of purples and unruly golds.
I like it when people stare—
everywhere I go, I share this:
the aftermath of your kindness.
One Almost Impossible, And Yet
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged haikuling, joy, kindness, plum on July 31, 2023| 1 Comment »
at the end of a day
crowded with kindness and joy
one perfect, ripe plum
At the Market
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged farmer's market, humanness, kindness on July 1, 2023| 13 Comments »
Now when I walk through the market,
I think of how someone else here
beside the stir-fry cart and the tie-dye tent
has just lost a beloved
and is hiding tears behind sunglasses.
Not knowing who they are,
I try to treat everyone with kindness.
Meanwhile the day is beautiful
for everyone, no matter how broken,
how whole our hearts. It gathers us all
in a grand blue embrace.
Part of me resists calling it a miracle.
The other part calls it what it is
and strolls through the miracle
of Friday morning surrounded by arugula
and strawberries, muffins, lilies,
and all these other fragile hearts,
all of us saying excuse me, good morning,
how are you, I’m fine.
Though I Respond to My Name, I Am Aware
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, love, name on February 14, 2023| 12 Comments »
how completely the love of others
has made me who I am. How the work
of their hands is more me
than the swirls of my own fingerprints.
I am the project of love,
the product of compassion,
the sum total of kindness
and sympathy. Of course,
the cruelty, too. Of course,
the ugliness, the shame.
But it is love that rises in me,
like yeast in the living bread.
It is love I’ve received
that stands when I stand,
love that responds
when you say my name.
*
Friends, I have to tell you I went to the most powerful poetry reading today. Organized by a local high school girl, there were high school girls, teachers and community members who read in support of Shatter the Silence. Poems by Joy Harjo, Maya Angelou, Audrey Lorde, Ani deFranco, Marge Piercy and more … and it was so deeply moving to see the courage, the engagement, the support for each other. Conversations are happening now I never dreamt could happen–about empowerment, deep listening, meeting what is painful and celebrating what is good. There is support in the school from teachers and administration to have these conversations. It was absolutely heart-opening and soul nourishing and I am so amazed by this generation of young women. Change is happening, real, beautiful, just, fierce, loving change.
Dear Students of West Side School
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, kids, kindergarten, kindness, school on November 11, 2022| 8 Comments »
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
When My Friend’s Husband Brings Us a Morning Treat
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grandmother, kindness, mango, service, sweetness, time on October 18, 2022| 11 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.