Posts Tagged ‘surrender’



After all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


And so after shouting

and whining and begging

and crying and whimpering,

simpering, weeping and sniveling,

sobbing and blubbering, bawling

and name calling, wailing

and flailing and thrashing

and sprawling, and after the threats

and after the bribes, after

loudly groaning and prostrated moaning,

at last she was quiet and felt

against her cheek the damp,

and she noticed the whole

world a-glistening and she

walked in the rain, hair wet,

clothes wet, and instead

of complaining, she began

listening, listening

to the humble, beautiful

song of rain.


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One Abandon



drenched in the downpour—

the feet, now reckless,

find a playground in every puddle

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One Surrender



hijacked by the moon

my heart stops trying to know better

and lets the light drive

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playing referee

between the sun and clouds,

eventually I take off my stripes

to be a spectator instead—

how pleasant

without all that whistling



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without a map

I row my small canoe—

a leash of moonlight

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Sitting in the rain

in the dark

with three good tires

I think of Confucius,

who, when arrested

by accident didn’t fuss,

rather sat in his cell for five days

playing lute until his story

untangled and he

was set free.

It is dry in the car,

and though the radio works,

I do not turn it on.

I never learned

to play lute,

but sense that perhaps

I am being played, what

with this long neck,

with my deep round back,

with my body still learning

to open.

The rain keeps

inconsistent time

on the windshield.

It is not deliberately

that the world

throws rocks

in the road.

Or is it?

The dark is only

the dark.

I feel a lessening

of the tension,

a tuning,

and who is it

that pulls

the strings.

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Surrender is not like this highway

with its dotted lines and passing lanes

and its well-marked exit signs.

Surrender is more a dirt country road

where you’ve taken a turn

that doesn’t show up in the map.

And then run out of gas. And

get a flat. And then, when you think

it can’t get worse, you start

to giggle, then full belly laugh.

Yeah, surrender is something like that.

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throwing the compass

into the tall grass—

the feet giddy with possibility

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One Afternoon




Here is his ferocity—

how it opens him like a monsoon

here is your umbrella

fling it in the rain

let the flood rearrange you

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I tell myself this is how love begins,

with a grumble. A rock in the shoe.

The flowers dead. Sleet.

This is how love begins, with taunting.

With mud on its feet. It begins

when we can’t imagine loving.

It begins when there is no light.

This is how love begins. When

we’re too exhausted to fight,

and as we slump, a door appears,

and we can’t imagine not

walking through it.


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