As the sweat beads on my chest,
I ask my daughter to ladle water
over the rocks. Steam rises
to fill our lungs and heat our skin.
My lips move to whisper
Ihanaa löylyä, “beautiful steam,”
but it is my Finnish host mother’s voice
I hear. She taught me, too, to crave it,
to love it, to long for the shock
of its intensity, helped me practice
learning to desire what is good
for the body, though it is uncomfortable.
Ihanaa löylyä, I say to my daughter
as she gasps from the heat.
She repeats it in Finnish, in English.
Beautiful steam, though her syllables
lack conviction. The steam is,
I trust, doing its good sauna work—
cleansing the body, relaxing
the mind. Now it’s natural
to want it, even as I struggle
to stay with the heat. Sweat rolls down
my cheeks. I praise it, call it beautiful—
the steam, the feeling, yes, but also
this learning to love what is sometimes
not easy at first to love.
Posts Tagged ‘surrender’
From the Sauna
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Finland, heat, resistance, sauna, surrender on December 31, 2024| 1 Comment »
I Was Swept Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged broom, cliche, dust, force, surrender on December 2, 2024| 2 Comments »
I was swept away,
he said, and I imagined
the size of the broom
that could gather me up
as if I were so much dust,
which I am. I imagined
whose great hand
would wield that broom.
And what else might
get caught up in that sweep?
And would I feel joy, or sheer terror,
or both, as I was whisked
from the world I know?
I was swept away, he said,
and what part of me longed
to hide beneath the couch,
fearful of such unmooring?
And what part of me
was jealous of him,
that darn near threw itself
into the path of that broom
just to feel that deeply moved,
that unable to resist the force,
that unable to do anything
but say yes to the world
and ride on that trajectory,
waving good bye to whoever
it was I thought I once knew.
When Everything Has Been Stripped Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, ice floe, loss, surrender on December 1, 2024| 5 Comments »
It’s like when the ice floe
moves through the river bed
ripping out any ice
winter has set, until
the whole channel is
roil and rush and wild
upheaval. I remember
what that was like
after he died—
when hours, days,
whole months, were
stripped of all skin
and all that was left
was the naked, beating heart.
I thought that was what it meant
to be stripped, but then,
I remember the first time
I knew for sure if I could have
my boy back, I wouldn’t.
Not if the world stayed the same.
It was a useless bargain,
anyway. But I knew
it was selfish to wish
him back to this world
to ease my own pain.
That was the moment
my whole emptied being
understood there was
more to lose. And I don’t know
if we could say that I chose it
or that life chose it for me.
I was standing in the drive
beneath the evergreen tree.
Everything changed then
when even my useless desire
to bargain with death
was stripped from me.
Today as the ice floe
tears through the canyon,
I listen as it alters
the landscape. Trunks of trees
bash against the rocks.
The rocks themselves tumble
in cold, thick waves.
Nothing to be done,
save surrender to the tumult.
Inside me, my heart beats, untamed.
Yes, I think. That is
exactly what it was like.
Though It’s Messy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged brother, election, love, oppostion, sibling, sister, surrender on November 13, 2024| 4 Comments »
I don’t know why we were fighting,
my brother and I, we were always fighting,
but he was already bigger than I, stronger, too,
so I did what I could and yanked hard
on a hank of his hair, twisting my fist
to increase the tension and cause him more pain.
He howled, and I delighted in his howl,
loving my cruelty, wanting to hurt him
as much as I felt he’d hurt me.
Even now, though I cannot recall
what he did or said, I remember the rise
of indignation, that hot flood of righteousness,
that cruel joy in feeling I was giving him back
what he deserved. Oh young version of me,
you would not believe me now when I tell you
you will both surrender your battling to forge
a fierce and loyal love. Not that you don’t disagree.
You are still so opposite in almost every way,
every way save one—your certainty
you can love each other through anything.
Through elections, through divorce,
through the death of a child, through the death
of your father, the loss of your hope.
You can love each other even when
you’re furious with each other,
when you both know the other is wrong.
Believe me, sweetheart,
the world only gets smaller.
The stakes only get higher. God, it’s messy,
so much worse than mean words,
so much more than pulled hair.
The story only gets larger.
We are all each other has.
The Un-Journey
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birthday, day, journey, surrender on September 17, 2024| 8 Comments »
—for Hannah
Sometimes a day,
like a mountain,
has no road,
no route,
no trail,
no map,
no right way,
no signs,
no directions,
no guide,
no promises,
no cairns,
no place
to arrive.
Sometimes
the only
step
to take
is not
to take
a step.
How humbled,
how human
we are then.
Naked as birth.
Raw. Unmasked.
So far from
any path
we might
wish to set.
Such a terrible
generous day
to conceive:
when nothing
is asked of us
but to be
the dust
that is
breathed.
Beyond Sight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged control, dream, god, hand, surrender, trust on August 26, 2024| 5 Comments »
All around me, the world
was normal—people eating dinner
or walking down the street—
but my world?
Some massive, invisible hand
kept capturing me, then
tossing me into the air.
And I’d somersault
and fall and be caught,
then placed upright again
on the ground. All night
it went on like this.
I’d be walking and then
I’d be flying and then
I’d be falling and then
I’d be caught, until finally,
by morning, we couldn’t say
that it wasn’t disconcerting,
but we could say I
had become more fluent
in this strange upheaval.
We could say I
had begun to trust
the same hand that tossed me
would catch me.
We could say that when
I woke up, I was still myself
and nothing felt the same.
And though my feet
never left the ground today,
I was tossed.
And then I was caught.
Even now, I almost feel them
around my chest,
those great fingers
as they set me on my feet again.
Beyond Quiet
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindfisher, noise, peace, quiet, surrender on February 24, 2024| 6 Comments »
From bare branch to bare branch
Clark’s nutcrackers weave the dry tick
of their call through morning—
as if sticks are rattling,
as if stones are clattering—
and whatever part of me
that is longing for quiet
is invited into the racket.
I say I want peace,
but what the heart really wants
is to know itself
as part of everything,
to belong to the world
of grinding and trilling,
scolding and chattering,
to knit itself into this raucous day,
strident and so alive.
The Medicine of Surrender
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged medicine, surrender, what is on January 19, 2024| 19 Comments »
comes with no spoonful of sugar.
No promises, no back up plans,
no returns, no insurance.
The medicine of surrender
never tastes the way you expect,
never tastes the same next time,
seldom has the hoped for effect.
And if there were some part of you
that thought it might not be affected,
that thought it might hold back,
that part is most likely the first part
to be flooded with the relentless
truth of what is. Oh surrender.
The surest medicine that exists.
There are infinite side effects.
Wonder. Freedom. Rawness.
It’s like opening the dictionary
to the word heaven. Or obliteration.
And knowing it’s the same thing.
It’s like playing spin the bottle with life,
and you French kiss whatever you get.
It’s the only remedy that can help you
be whole. The only real medicine there is.
Thank You & a Poem of Surrender
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged amusement park, choice, family, grief, rollercoaster, surrender on August 14, 2023| 21 Comments »
Dear Friends,
It has been two years today since I wrote you to say that we had a family emergency and it would be some time before I wrote again. Several weeks after that I wrote to explain my son Finn, nearly 17, had chosen to take his life. And it was several weeks after that before I began writing the daily poems again. During these two years, I have received so much love, and I thank you. I thank every one of you who has lit a candle, said a prayer, thought good thoughts, did something nice for someone else who was grieving. I thank every one of you who held me and my family in your hearts. I am so grateful. As it is, it’s been the hardest thing I have ever done–meeting this loss. I honor every other person who has lost a beloved. I honor every other heart that has grieved. It is so hard, and without an enormous upswelling of love, I don’t know how anyone would do it. Your words, your thoughts, your blessings have carried me, and I thank you. Thank you for all the letters and notes today and this week–I read every single one out loud. I thank every one of you by name. I am sorry that I am not able to write everyone back individually–your words matter to me. It matters to me that you reach back. It matters to me that you let me know the poems matter to you. Thank you. Thank you. I can’t imagine doing this without your support.
Today our family decided to honor Finn’s life by going to the amusement park where we had a lot of fun as he was growing up–and one of my friends pointed out after we’d made our plan, “Life’s a rollercoaster,” and isn’t that an apt metaphor.
As you ride your own rollercoasters, friends, I wish that you, too, feel carried by love. I wish that peace finds you and makes a home in you.
with love,
Rosemerry
Riding Rollercoasters on a Difficult Day
The moment we entered the queue
for The Boomerang, we already knew
we’d be turned upside down and whirled around,
and by the time our chests were restrained
in our seats, we knew we’d consented to free fall,
to be shaken and twisted and then do it all again
backwards, but it wasn’t until the ride began,
clackity, clackity, clackity, clackity, clackity
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
it was only then, when we laughed
the whole time we screamed,
it was only then we surrendered.
On a Thursday Afternoon
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, love, moment, mother, photo, surrender, wholeness on January 13, 2023| 7 Comments »
We sit on the carpet in the entry,
and Vivian balances her ring
on the head of the cat and
for a long time we stay like this,
speaking of school and friends
The phone doesn’t ring.
The texts don’t chime.
The afternoon light
seems to hold each thing in its place
like photo corners in a scrapbook
and minutes stretch into forever.
There is a wholeness to the moment
so perfect I almost try to escape it.
Instead I stay and fall deeper
into the pages of this simple story.
A girl. A mother. A cat. An afternoon.
The certainty there’s nowhere else to be.