Billowing Overhead

 

Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything. -- C.S. Lewis

It's not your absence I feel,

but your presence, palpable,

still snoring on the sofa

after chemo.

You are not missing

from any moment I breathe.

You exist.

In the painting you bought on a trip to Spain.

The chipped blue mug from your alma mater.

Broadway tickets I found in a drawer.

You are with me.

On the grocery shelf

beside those square orange crackers

you ate by the box.

In the sky,

billowing overhead,

declaring your existence

as someone still loved

on this earth.

--Jacqueline Jules

[Posted for Sue Jackson and all who know this presence in absence].

Summer Solstice

 

Suddenly,
there’s nothing to do
and too much—
the lawn, paths, woods
were never so green
white blossoms of every
size and shape—hydrangea,
Chinese dogwood, mock orange
spill their glistening—

Inside, your photographs
and books stand guard
in orderly array. Your
half of the bed is smooth,
the pillows plump, the phone
just out of reach beyond it.

No one calls early—they
remember your late hours.
The shades are down, so
sunlight’s held at bay
though not the fabulous winged
song of summer birds
waking me as ever, always in our
favorite room, our season.
Yesterday’s mail on the desk
newspaper, unread. Plans for the day
hover bright out all our doors—

Don’t think of evening.

--Rose Styron

[Our Summer Solstice dogwood tree, 6-20-24]

For a Father

The longer we live,
The more of your presence
We find, laid down,
Weave upon weave
Within our lives....
There are many things
We could have said,
But words never wanted
To name them;
And perhaps a world
That is quietly sensed
Across the air
In another’s heart
Becomes the inner companion
To one’s own unknown.

--John O'Donohue

Before the Coffee Gets Cold

 

Don't leave anything for later.

Later, the coffee gets cold.

Later, you lose interest.

Later, the day turns into night.

Later, people grow up.

Later, people grow old.

Later, life goes by.

Later, you regret not doing something...

When you had the chance.

Life is a fleeting dance, a delicate balance of moments that unfold before us, never to return in quite the same way again.

Regret is a bitter pill to swallow, a weight that bears down upon the soul with the burden of missed chances and unspoken words.

So, let us not leave anything for later. Let us seize the moments as they come, with hearts open and arms outstretched to embrace the possibilities that lie before us. For in the end, it is not the things we did that we regret, but the things we left undone, the words left unspoken, the dreams left unfulfilled.

--Toshikazu Kawaguchi

How to Listen

 

Tilt your head slightly to one side and lift
your eyebrows expectantly. Ask questions.

Delve into the subject at hand or let
things come randomly. Don't expect answers.

Forget everything you've ever done.
Make no comparisons. Simply listen.

Listen with your eyes, as if the story
you are hearing is happening right now.

Listen without blinking, as if a move
might frighten the truth away forever.

Don't attempt to copy anything down.
Don't bring a camera or a recorder.

This is your chance to listen carefully.
Your whole life might depend on what you hear.

--Joyce Sutphen 

Forsythia

 

What must it feel like

after months of existing as bare brown sticks,

all reasonable hope

of blossoming lost,

to suddenly, one warm

April morning, burst

into wild yellow song,

hundred of tiny prayer

flags rippling in the still-

cold wind, the only flash

of color in the dull yard,

these small scraps of light,

something we might hold on to.

--Barbara Crooker

Invitation

 

Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy

and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air

as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude –
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing

just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world.
I beg of you,

do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.

--Mary Oliver

[Splendor on display at our bird feeders].