no title
How present are birds?
– are we all, are we all?
To pitch a song into the air does
not make a creature present, even
if it calls to another living thing,
mindful of predator and prey.
The spiced crisp ice of wild
hot fear traps us all in
its glittery aquamarine
/too often/
taking us to another dimension
before work,
after work,
and all day into the evening.
The chorus of life is
a dense old protein, and
fearful awareness of it the
doorstop to living.
Yet to be a mindful person is to
be, most of all, resilient –
willing to wade into the
bleary muenster of all voices
and sounds.
To be mindful is to sit present
on the beach not thinking –
adjacent to the water,
yet still swirled up in it.
2 thoughts on "no title"
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I feel like everyone talks about how poems end on here, because we all want to leave a little stinger for the reader.
But that last stanza and the message is so touching and by far a standout for me.
This was a very beautiful poem to read.
Deep waters in your writing, Mary. Nicely done.