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Posts Tagged ‘softness’

 

 

Again this morning

the invitation to be soft,

to notice how when we wake,

the cage of thorns that sprang up

yesterday is not now here.

 

It takes only just one thought of blame

or righteousness, and the thorns

return in all their ferocity

and brandish their barbs,

and flaunt their hooks,

 

but there is this moment

when we can simply notice

how soft we are, how vulnerable,

and choose to stay that way,

and a moment later, choose again,

 

oh, the morning, it smells like freedom.

 

 

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arriving with no armor

with softness

they teach me

another way to meet the cold,

these pussy willows

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Unapologetic

Oh the water lilies. See how they seem
to open wider out of their own opening?

Let me unfold like that—without thinking,
without assuming I’m already open enough.

Do not let me close up, all stiff and stoic,
like a walnut that will not crack.

Don’t let me become the one who groans
when someone else starts to rhapsodize

about the fragrant wisteria in spring.
Why is being hardened a respectable, desirable thing?

Let me be soft. Let me always sigh as I bite
into ripe watermelon, juice spilling in runnels

of pink down my chin, down my neck.
Let someone else stand beside the waterfall

and explain how its negative ions work,
and let me be the one getting drenched

and falling in love with the sheen on the rocks.
Let me not leave my signature like the woodpecker,

but let me chant endlessly on summer nights
in the way that the whippoorwill does.

And why not? Why not praise the slender-bodied weasels
who turn white then honest brown?

Both colors are equally lovely. Why not enthuse
over the bulky walrus that has adapted to stay warm?

Oh let me be warm and give that warmth back to the world.
It’s so easy to turn cold, to poke fun, to accuse, to be cool.

Let me be a fool. Let my thoughts of how the world should be
jump away like a mob of wallabies. Let me not find pleasure

in making things small or putting others down
or rolling my eyes or criticizing. Let me be silly.

And gushing with praise for whatever
is the nearest thing I see—

a twig in the rain, a rock on the trail,
a red leaf that has already let go.

* a w-poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie, http://www.alphabetmenagerie.com

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