Dear Peace

 

You are one of the few things left

that cannot be purchased, but

must instead be cultivated and

shaped over time, like clay aching

for the touch and turn of human hands.

You struggle up like a wildflower

in the same untamed patch of ground,

needing both the light and shadow

of the understory to keep rising up

year after year. You are the single

untrammeled Spring Beauty I saw

today, growing from a clump of moss,

white and pink-veined petals open

only slightly, like a mouth searching

for the right words to speak or sing.

—James Crews

Open Anyway

 

When I have fears that what I share

will never touch this hurting world,

I turn to the wild violets growing again

from clumps of moss on the forest floor,

how they unfurl a few limp purple

petals that seem no match for spring

winds and rain, but still somehow trust

that mining bees and fritillaries will

find them and feed—the flowers open

anyway. I still remember standing in front

of that classroom full of expectant faces

in third grade for show and tell, gripping

the thin notebook page on which I’d

written my first poem. The words swirled

and swam until I closed my eyes and

recited them by heart. It was all I had

to give, and not nearly enough, I thought.

Applause thundered through the room.

—James Crews

One Heart

If I can stop even one heart from

breaking, I shall not live in vain.

 —Emily Dickinson

I may not keep your heart from breaking,

but if I can stitch up even one

small corner of a single chamber,

I will have done my work for the day.

If I can help you turn your gaze

toward the clouds at sunset going

slowly orange then pink, becoming

shadows as the net of dusk gets thrown

over the house and trees, then I can

sleep tonight, knowing you stood with me

at the window, hand on your chest,

letting the sickle-moon, as soon

as it appeared, slice through 

each of your fears as easily as bread.

—James Crews 

Look for the Helpers

            for Fred Rogers

Today, I will look for the helpers—

the woman pouring sunflower seeds

from an orange bag into the feeder,

and a chickadee, having eaten its fill,

lifting off so another can feast there.

Someone holding open the fogged-over

door of the coffee shop for a stranger

who smiles and says thank you in spite

of the news. I will watch workers dressed

in neon vests with shovels and buckets,

filling potholes across the city, the asphalt

steaming as they spread it over the street,

then tamp it down, repairing what they can.

—James Crews

[Three of my favorite helpers].

Folding Altar

 

I carry my church with me

wherever I go, unfolding the altar

of a moment while out walking

with my husband, pausing to pick

a few dandelions gone to seed,

taking a deep breath, then blowing,

sending those silver messengers

into the air above a field,

each one the seed of a prayer

I say every day I'm alive:

Please let me give up all hope

for a better past, and just be here

by the side of the driveway,

watching wisps of clouds turning

pink with evening, then purple,

and listening to the complex solo

of a catbird perched in a maple

as we say goodbye to the light

which may leave the sky tonight

but will stay with us, flickering

for years to come.

--James Crews

[Sunset over the Sequatchie Valley in TN].

No Small Thing

It’s no small thing to learn the names

of the birds you hear each day,

perched on the tops of coneflowers

gone to seed, calling from the hedgerow.

It’s no small thing to belt out

Cardinal, catbird, goldfinch, when you

stop between breaths to listen,

teasing out their strands of song

from the rustling of river birches

and the distant roar of a lawn mower.

It’s no small thing to go so quiet

you hear the chorus of your thoughts

crescendo, then fall away as you

notice the patch of sun on a stone wall

blanketed in sphagnum moss,

and imagine the unseen beings—

nematodes and water bears—who

thrive in tiny pools of rain suspended

between the moss’ tiny leaves.

—James Crews 

Note to Self

 

There is nothing sacred

about being selfless, pushing

your own needs so far down

you forget your true name.

There is nothing selfish

about saying no to the endless

demands and task lists of others,

and saying yes to the light

that brings you alive—so full

of your self, people edge closer

just to bask in the warmth

of your leftover glow.

--James Crews

[Our granddaughter living joyfully].

Cardinal

 

Be someone's cardinal

glimpsed between leaf-shadows,

flit of brightness so startling

they have to blink to believe their eyes.

Be the reason someone looks up

from the cracked blandness of concrete

and remembers the world

is so much larger than what's locked

inside head and heart. Be the red

swoop from tree to tree, the thread

that stitches one uncertain

moment to the next.

--James Crews

After Grief

We forget that spring comes

not all at once, in one

wide sweep of warmth

and green blanketing the ground,

but blossom by blossom,

and blade by blade,

beginning with a single

crocus creaking open

the hinges of its petals

in the chill darkness

before dawn one morning,

having sensed the barest

hint of sun still buried

like a bulb beneath

the horizon, and decided

that’s all the proof

it needs to say its own

small yes to life

in this new season.

--James Crews

[Photo of daffodils striving towards spring on this snowy April day].

Essential Gratitude

If you have a bed and roof over your head,

count yourself blessed. No matter that

the mattress squeaks each time you move,

no matter that someone lit firecrackers

outside your window last night—it was not

artillery fire or the crackling of actual

flames devouring whole neighborhoods.

Pull the comforter up to your sleepless face

and thank its lumpy bulk. There is a walk

by the water waiting for you this afternoon

with the man you love, who loves you back

in spite of your anxieties. There is a glass

of thick espresso blended with whole milk,

which will leave a film across your lips.

Kiss the cup of your strange and lucky life,

then drink from it, and drink from it

for as long as you can.

--James Crews

Safe Space

 

When there is nowhere else you feel safe,
and you think that goodness has gone extinct;
when the world seems cold as a snowed-in car
that won’t start anymore — step inside this poem.
Find solace in the spaces between each line,
breathe peace in the pause between words.
Let no one every say you don’t belong here —
you were born, you’re alive, you exist: take this
as proof that you too are loved. Say this to yourself
until it is true: May I be safe, may all beings
on this planet be safe. And feel how a small fire
kindles in your chest, spreading to the bundle
of tinder that is your heart, still humming
its tireless, ancient hymn: I am, I am, I am.

-- James Crews

The Life You Have

 

This may not be the day you planned,

may not even be the life you wanted--

but this is the one you have. So wrap

your hands around the warm mug of it,

inhaling the honeyed steam of tea. Pull

the wool sweater of it closer, and relish

whatever protects you against every gust

of cold rushing in. Savor the buttered

toast and creamy sweet potato soup

of it, kissed with a hint of cinnamon

and curry. Switch on the bright floodlight

of your life and watch flurries drift down

in the yard, like a handful of confetti

tossed out over the ragged snowbanks.

--James Crews

Flicker

"What a small flicker is given

To each of us to know."  

--Naomi Shihab Nye

You go around all day guarding the flicker

you found again that morning. Cupping a hand

to protect it from wind, holding it close

to the chest, so no wayward breath blows it out.

This flame, shaky and uncertain, is how you

light the rooms behind your eyes that no one

has ever seen. The wick may be frayed,

and the wax will last for just an hour or two

at best, but it is enough. It will always be

enough to look into the eyes of another

and pass the flicker on to them.

--James Crews

Darkest Before Dawn

Three days into the new year,
and despite the lack of adequate light,
our white phalaenopsis orchid
has eased open a third delicate bloom.
Perhaps coaxed by the warmth
of the woodstove a few feet away,
the orchid thrives in its tiny pot
shaped like the shell of a nautilus,
sending out new stems and glossy leaves,
its aerial roots—green at the tips—
reaching upward like tentacles
to sip the morning air. These blooms
stir something too long asleep in me,
proving with stillness and slow growth
what I haven’t wanted to believe
these past few months—that hope
and grace still reign in certain sectors
of the living world, that there are laws
which can never be overturned
by hateful words or the wishes
of power-hungry men. Be patient,
this orchid seems to say, and reveal
your deepest self even in the middle
of winter, even in the darkness
before the coming dawn.

--James Crews

Only Love

 

"Only love is big enough to hold all the pain of this world." -- Sharon Salzberg

And so I imagine the entire earth

as one beating heart held in the space

of this universe, inside a larger body

we can't fathom, filling with enough

love to lead each of us out of the cave

of our personal pain and into the light--

enough love to lead all humans as one

out of collective fear, rage, and hate

into a place of peace that is found only

within our own hearts, beating in sync

with the pulse of this planet we were

born to inhabit, despite the daily storms

which overtake us and make us forget

we are the lifeblood pumped into these

veins, every particle of love we generate

running into rivers, lakes, and creeks,

evaporating into the air we breathe,

give back, and breathe again.

--James Crews

[Our son reading a favorite childhood story to his sons].