Day 3: Ritual

a poem a day in the month of may

Today’s word is ritual.

A very simplified definition of ritual: a sequence of activities involving gestures, words, actions, or revered objects.

Really take some time with this today. Before you write your poem, you can even make a list of the ways in your life you practice ritual. That list may surprise you. You may realize that you practice ritual in ways you’d forgotten about, or maybe parts of your day that you didn’t consider to be ritualistic actually are. That’s definitely what’s happened for me as I wrote this poem.

Even showing up to these writing prompts is a temporary May ritual, and I’m so honored I get to be part of your life in this way, even if it’s just for a month.

Some images that come up when I search “ritual”

Photo by Ashley Batz on Unsplash

Photo by Content Pixie on Unsplash

Photo by Prophsee Journals on Unsplash

Discovering Ritual

Every morning I brew
the coffee, ten cups
of water to twelve and a half
scoops of fresh grounds,
partly-caffeinated because
I'm always easing myself
into the coming day.

On most weekdays
I make the boys’ school
lunches--
opening,
emptying,
preparing,
zipping shut.

I walk across our tiny
kitchen, around the island,
and first empty the hot
coffee grounds, then
take the carafe and put
the lid on to keep its
contents steaming, every single
time thinking about a 
favorite character from
a favorite book who 
loves his morning coffee
like we do.

I stack the lunch boxes
where the boys can grab them,
remembering that I, too, should
eat something.

I choose from four 
options--
protein oatmeal, 
eggs and toast,
a bowl of cereal, 
honeyed yogurt with granola.

Before we drive to school, 
I always say it:
“Do we have our iPads and
lunch boxes?” 
because too often we haven’t, 
too often racing from the house 
and forgetting ourselves 
along the way.

***

Every morning that we are
together, Travis and I play cards,
rummy, three to five rounds
depending on how deeply our
time together needs to seep
into our day.

We gather our coffee mugs,
gather ourselves, lean into
the rhythm of the quiet--
chatting,
picking the background music,
shuffling the deck 
(at least three times please),
smirking in surprise
every time I win a round.

Then the day begins, or maybe
simply extends its beginning,
letting me move from one space 
to the next in a steady rhythm,
a kind of dance marking time.

***

I often think I’m lacking in ritual,
like I’m not religious enough,
not connected enough to a
solid community to get to
ceremony on a regular basis.

And that's partly true.
And it's true, too, if ritual 
is based on repetition,
care, actions and thoughts around
objects that bring us to life, then
the mornings in my kitchen I am
fully submersed--
praying Love over lunch boxes,
holding sacred memories over the coffee maker, 
whispering reminders of care and connection
when we might forget,
shuffling cards and 
practicing affection and comfort 
when the world
feels cold and heavy.

I live ritual after all, and every day
it brings me fully into the moment
of who I am, who I’ve been,
and who I hope to be in the
sacred corners of my tiny Pennsylvania home.