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gratitude poem for you on a day that didn’t go my way
i was hoping for a million dollar phone call sometime before five and maybe an ice cold soda and maybe a gilded acceptance letter and a screen printed thank you note and a kraft paper wrapped apology. i was ready to accept it all. but instead i received a long stretch of silence: just the cars rushing rhythmically by and no offers beyond the reaching shadow wisps on the wall. by the time i gave up on glory you were half asleep in our bed. i am grateful for the lack of registered letters and wire transfers and congratulatory messages: because here you are rolled up in the blue embroidered quilt reminding me even on the days nothing goes my way your love is gold foil filigree miraculous just waiting for me to cut the lights.
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for these days
these days we are improvising: there’s always an ingredient that’s missing from the shelf, something you needed but couldn’t get. each morning gratitude for all those who make do with less than they deserve, who are out here fighting for more. the world is on fire, my heart is burning. this poem was inspired by comments on the Love, Dare, Grow project. Quotes are in italics. insurrection
i am here for the day to day insurrection of your breath, the regime toppling power of your grin. you remind me that what i really have to do today has nothing to do with that millionth meeting that trillionth email: my real contribution is laughter in the bay wind, a hand in your hand, and this poem, this word. form
i am not on the list. again wandering the options and finding none fierce enough. fine. i’ll be other in a world where the choices are just between one form of death dealing and another. listen: there’s a whole field beyond the path. come find the joy out here where you’re not supposed to go. i have an outstretched hand and so much magic in my palm. love poem for the end
this is a love poem for the end. for the point at which everything breaks and it all comes tumbling down. this is a love poem for that moment when white people wake up from the nightmare we’re perpetuating and drop our weapons, guns and money bits of privilege skittering across the floor. this is a love poem for the end. before the new beginnings there has to be a breaking point. the children are yelling burn it down, and overheard a helicopter. i open my hand and let everything fall. |
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June 2020
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