On a morning
when the snow
falls and drapes
everything in shine,
it is not that I don’t
feel the wounds—
raw and throbbing—
it’s just that it’s
so beautiful,
this tender world,
that I want
to praise it
forever.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, nature, praise, snow, wound on December 12, 2020| Leave a Comment »
On a morning
when the snow
falls and drapes
everything in shine,
it is not that I don’t
feel the wounds—
raw and throbbing—
it’s just that it’s
so beautiful,
this tender world,
that I want
to praise it
forever.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged healing, nest, poem, poetry, wound on November 18, 2017| Leave a Comment »
the only thing
that matters
is the wound—
from a dark nest
comes gold
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, reframe, wound on March 4, 2016| 1 Comment »
this wound—
re-teaching my tongue to name it
blessing
*
a sad song
so beautiful even the skylark
stops to listen
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, wound on January 7, 2016| 4 Comments »
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
—Rumi
Even knowing that a wound becomes
an entry point for light, I do not want
the wound. I have been wounded, am
wounded, and yes, I have felt the light
touch even the most vulnerable places
with inconceivable tenderness,
but tonight I am not strong enough
to pray that the wound stays open.
Tonight all I want is for the ache
to stop, not just for me, but for the whole
aching world. Light is not all
that enters the wound. Any orchardist
can tell you what happens to an injured fruit.
Is it so wrong to want to ripen?
I can see my ideas are small. I go to push them
out of the way and I am dwarfed by them.
How strange to pray that I might want to pray
for a wound to stay open. One day,
perhaps, we will all have been wounded
enough that we will be made entirely of light.
One day, perhaps, it will be more painful
not to be wounded, not to be open
to anything that arrives to enter.