Hello friends, and happy Sunday!
This practice has been so incredible, and I have loved some of your reflections on writing poetry in your own spaces.
What has this meant to you?
What does poetry mean to you?
Today’s prompt is control. I giggled to myself as I wrote this one, and I hope you enjoy it.
The elders are giggling,
but the ancestors are keeling over in laughter.
Did you honesty think you could control
the amount of LEGO bricks strewn across the house?!
Did you think you could control
the noise echoing from their bedroom,
as pillows slap faces?!
My dear, let go.
Let go and feel the hum of life
beneath the surface of the messes
and the noises.
After endless moments of frustration,
I finally ease, let my shoulders drop,
close my eyes,
laugh to myself, because it’s true—
control is a construct,
and the sooner we learn, the better.
The sooner we learn,
the better we take the messes,
the noises,
the waiting
and the struggling to keep something,
if anything, in order.
The sooner we learn
patience
and
deep breaths,
the sooner
we recognize
the myth of
a spotless house
with happy children
or an endlessly quiet one
filled with contentment.
Do you hear him singing
as he digs through that basket full
of LEGO bricks?
Yes
I reply.
I hear him.
And it is everything
good in this world.
I surrender to the morning
to the cycle of spring I cannot control
to green buds and singing chickadees
who announce their place in the world
-
I surrender to my body
knit together in my mother’s womb
Too large, too small, too pale, too dark
Embodied spirit in the world
-
I surrender to my fears (and laughter)
mere colors (reflected light)
to paint the days we share
as we walk each other home
Control.
The word feels like clenched jaws and closed mouths. Like nails digging into my skin to keep from crying. The word feels like holding my breath.
Breath.
That word feels like open spaces. It feels like catch and release. Like screaming from a mountain top because the world is big and impossible and beautiful and all we have is that
breath.