Lenten Embertide, Saturday, 2020
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Mother Teresa
I
Wild in the woods, bamboo flowers a warning.
Here, the windy day turns to fair night.
The dog and I walk at civil twilight. The hump
backed moon lights up the evening sky,
it’s missing sliver the darkness that cannot
completely hide. The dog slows, whimpers.
A hawk swoops low, its wings slashing
a dark furl across the sky. We hear a rustle,
a squeal. A swallow, unnested, small and alone.
The dog groans.
II
We will all be dashed to pieces soon, wretched
in our gloom, our powers prey to lesser gods.
Still, I say,
do not let those gods, that gloom, that frenzied mob
bewitch you. Today, we need only till our given land,
raise houses, sheep, wheat, our children.
We need only shed our lies like an old cloak, lift
our poor neighbor into our arms and feed him
with our own spoon. This time,
its crooked paths, its smited air, its ashed remains
will bring us to that other shore where the present
is not pressed between two stones and the river flows
with ever-flowing waters, the path righted,
time’s ashes swept away, the air unsmited.
III
Do not let grief beguile you.
In suffering’s caul, all is transfigured.
There is weeping, yes, and sorrow, but the world
remains lit by the uncreated light.
So look up and see. See that cluster of new and ancient stars
jeweled across the clavicle of midnight.
IV
At dawn’s twilight, I walk. Fair night turns to tragic day.
Still I say,
put your weapons down, though your anger
be righteous. Do not let it possess you
for the day is upon us when the sun will rise at first light.
Lift your neighbor up, up and bless him. Bless him.
Even now.
The day is upon us when the Son will rise at first light.Please check out Lydwine Journal, where this poem first appeared. And please share this newsletter with anyone you think might be interested.
Lenten Embertide, Saturday, 2020