Posts tagged “fear

call and response

stretch out your hand in trepidation

open your palm with your frightened eyes shut

do you trust the gifts you’re given?

neither do I, yet we both risk the touch

often our reaching has brought us to ruin

there have been serpents disguised as doves

like a fisherman, your sight is blocked by the surface

like a fish, you so seldom look up

in your chest is a heart and each pump starts a pulse

your body is water; your heart is a stone

a stone splashes once and the ripples convulse

every vein channels rhythm and urges the flow

your pulse is a call to you: open your hand

gifts may betray but will not fail to teach you

I once wished for love and got wisdom instead

each gift you accept is a bite you can’t chew

you will swallow the bitterest dose of reality

you will wish you had never unfolded your fist

even in pain your pulse will keep beckoning

you are constantly summoned to open your gifts

stretch out your hand in trepidation

open your palm with your frightened eyes shut

do you trust the life you’re given?

neither do I, yet we both risk the touch

fly

[this post appeared first on Torrey Gazette]


the day after the kite festival

The day after the kite festival
The great field is empty
Except for five lacrosse players
And half an orange abandoned in the grass.

Yesterday this place was a whirling,
Pulsing cacophony of color and running
And kites swarming under the sun.
Of sisters shouting “higher!” and “now you’ve got it!”
To sweaty-palmed little brothers tugging on strings.

Today at the field’s edges,
All the trees are littered with kite shards-
Colors trapped in skeletal branches,
Ribbons flayed to shreds, ripped by the wind and a grey sky.

Convince me not to see all of life in this field:
One day everything is brightness and celebration,
And the next it’s all tangled in trees.

What trust is there in soaring, if kites are so easily caught?
Or laughter becomes silence and kisses turn to stone
And tenderness is exchanged for indifference?
Seamus Heaney pulled up a railroad tie and asked the same.
What is fixed, if things so solid can be utterly undone?

I have heard there is a future
And a hope that will not be cut off.
Next year the kites will swarm again.
So as I walk under the littered trees,
I sing softly
but am not quite
ready
to fly.

over