Day 31: H O P E (lingers)

thank you for writing poetry with me

Friends,

Here we are. May absolutely zoomed by, but I am so, so grateful for this space.

A few questions:

1. what did you learn about yourself here?

2. what surprised you about poetry in this space?

3. will you keep writing beyond this?

4. would you like more poetry prompts from me?

5. how does poetry shape your ways of being in the world?

The theme this month is Words Are Hope, so how could I end our month together with any word other than hope?

HOPE.

Repeat the word a few times. Feel it in your chest, your lungs, your belly, your cheeks, let it move about a bit in your brain, and send that energy back through your body.

We will always, always, live in a hurting, broken, grieving world. We cannot get around that.

But we will always, always, find hope here and there. I really believe that to be true.

So, embody hope.

Thank you, friends, for being here. We will take a break (I’m sure your inbox will appreciate it) and when we come back, I have a brand new series for us, so stay tuned!

Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash

Photo by Ronak Valobobhai on Unsplash

Photo by Faris Mohammed on Unsplash

I recently read about a meditation practice
that asks you to imagine golden light
being poured over your head, covering
the entirety of your body, your being,
a lightness, a gentle and soothing bath
in a tired, cold, and heartless world.

Hope lingers even in the hidden corners.

So here I am, imagining hope as the same,
drizzled over my head like olive oil,
simmering in my soul like butter and garlic,
stewing in my mind for hours, days, weeks,
like a hearty chili on a cold, autumn day.

Hope lingers even as the seasons change.

Hope is already here, within us, yes, but
sometimes we forget, and sometimes we
simply cannot find our way unless we stop
and ask hope to show up, to simply
cover us and remind us that we are not
alone, forgotten, despondent, dead.

Hope lingers even around the edges of death.

I recently decided that in order to survive here
with all of myself intact, I have to find some way
to calm the nervousness that hums in my body,
to acknowledge the grief and also hold the joy,
to choose not to look away but also fiercely hold on,
so, like a meditation, I grab hope again, and decide
that it’s not a shallow emotion but an everlasting belief.

Hope lingers even in this moment of despair.

So, linger with me, friend, please, and take a long
look at the expanse of life we’ve been given,
the long trajectory, the endless cycles, the liminality
that invites us into presence again, again, again,
asking us to bathe ourselves, to cloak ourselves,
to choose kinship, and to always, always, know
that on the other side of this is something sacred,
and we are to link arms and choose it—together.

Hope lingers even in the generations after us.
Hope lingers even in our smallness.
Hope lingers even near our fear.
Hope lingers even here. 
Hope lingers.