I still hold the hope in my heart that I will get back to posting on a regular basis again very soon. I have had some long days- maybe some of the longest in my life. By the end of my days, I can’t make a complete thought, much less type it. There are pockets of beauty though in every day- the yellow finch in the aviary at the nursing home my mother is in, heirloom tomatoes fresh from an Amish field, a gift from friends afar whom I have never met honoring the life of my little Herbie, the familiarity of the same best friend who has walked through every long day I’ve had since we were 13 with me, lots and lots of time with my sister and mother, and this week discovering this poem.
Enjoy it!
Blessing by Imitiaz Dharker
The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.
Imagine the drip of it,
the small splash, echo
in a tin mug,
the voice of a kindly god.
Sometimes, the sudden rush
of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts,
silver crashes to the ground
and the flow has found
a roar of tongues. From the huts,
a congregation : every man woman
child for streets around
butts in, with pots,
brass, copper, aluminium,
plastic buckets,
frantic hands,
and naked children
screaming in the liquid sun,
their highlights polished to perfection,
flashing light,
as the blessing sings
over their small bones.
3 comments:
Good to hear from you. Hoping everyday is smoother and your mother is doing well.
love--
i'm here. i'm sending good thoughts your way and hoping that your long days get easier by and by.
I know what you mean about the pockets of beauty -- every morning there are several hummingbirds at the feeders when I walk into the kitchen.
Enjoyed the poem.
donna
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