My ever thoughtful friend Karen forwarded this poem to me one day, from The Writer's Almanac.
Oh, to be carried in a pocket when one feels so raw...
Morning SongMarcia F. Brown
Here, I place
a blue glazed cup
where the wood
is slightly whitened.
Here, I lay down
two bright spoons,
our breakfast saucers, napkins
white and smooth as milk.
I am stirring at the sink,
I am stirring
the amount of dew
you can gather in two hands,
folding it into the fragile
quiet of the house.
Before the eggs,
before the coffee
heaving like a warm cat,
I step out to the feeder-
one foot, then the other,
alive on wet blades.
Air lifts my gown – I might fly –
This thistle seed I pour
is for the tiny birds.
This ritual,
for all things frail
and imperiled.
Wings surround me, frothing
the air. I am struck
by what becomes holy.
A woman
who lost her teenage child
to an illness without mercy,
said that at the end, her daughter
sat up in her hospital bed
and asked:
What should I do?What should I do?
Into a white enamel bath
I lower four brown eggs.
You fill the door frame,
warm and rumpled, kiss
the crown of my head.
I know how the topmost leaves
of dusty trees
feel at the advent
of the monsoon rains.
I carry the woman with the lost child
in my pocket, where she murmurs
her love song without end:
Bear yourself up on small wingsto receive what is given.Feed one anotherwith such tenderness,it could almost be an answer.
"Morning Song" by Marcia F. Brown
from "What on Earth" © Moon Pie Press, 2010
What a love-filled gift from your friend. Sending hugs to you.
ReplyDeletei remember reading that poem and thinking of you. i carry you in my pocket wherever i go, potts.
ReplyDeleteAs beautiful as "Morning Song" is, your own thoughts are as poetic. I love your line "Erin strewn before me like a bread crumb trail on the path of my daily existence." Thank goodness for your memories and yet how hard.......
ReplyDelete"Following where they lead my heart"....a bittersweet compass.
ReplyDeletexxoo