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:
what did you learn about yourself here?
what surprised you about poetry in this space?
will you keep writing beyond this?
would you like more poetry prompts from me?
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!
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.
Thank you, Kaitlin. This gift of May has shown me the hearts of many pilgrim poets, and reminded me of the joy of journeying together.
Hope
When the backward glance of wishing
Has worn you to a frazzle
And you can’t imagine anyplace
Or anyone you’ll ever bedazzle
I trust you’ll feel a tiny twitch
Like the wing flap of a sparrow
That stirs within the deepest deeps
In the very core of your marrow
Something that reaches out
Like a properly placed rope
Offering you a knot to grab
A lifesaver whose name is Hope
Who grabs you back and holds you
In hands tender but strong
Accompanying your journey
No matter how steep or long
She’s the traveling angel who’s
Already been where you’re going
She’s the heart forever beating
In the fear of your unknowing
Hope is a memory of tomorrow
Grown from a seed called grace
She’s the other side of sorrow
With us in each time and place
Thank you for this, Kaitlin! May has been a full month. I didn’t get a poem written and added to this space every day—but most days I turned the word in my head as I struggled through the demands of the day, and it was helpful. There were a few days this month that held some kind of not life or death serious, yet momentarily catastrophic, event. Those days I didn’t even get to look at the word for the day. Some prompts I started writing about but left unfinished. You chose good words. I realized (again) the need I have to write and I need to carve out the time to keep doing it. I also very much enjoyed reading what others wrote. I tend to wax long in verbiage while some of the most powerful poems were from those who were able to express great emotion encapsulated in few words. So again, thank you—and here’s to HOPE!
Hope.
I know well the feeling of hopeLESSness.
The familiarity of the exhaustion of spirit when caught in that sticky web of not-enough-ness and “impossibilities”
And the futility of frequent, and frustrating failures
That immobilize.
But also,
I know the gentle dawning of Hope like the sunrise.
The barely perceptible incremental increasing
warmth and light pushing back darkness until
The glowing sun emerges and splendorizes the skies and all it touches.
The way Hope dances free
with the tree leaves and breathes sweet encouragement in the evening breeze against my face.
The chorus of Hope that sounds in birdsong, frog chorus, and laughing children,
Releasing and reviving melodies in my heart.
Hope lifts my head to an awareness of yet unknown possibilities.
A seed of Hope planted
Yields the promise of fruit.