For me, remembering as a writer is about continually coming back to, and holding to a truth that propels you as a writer. It may be a truth that has evolved or changed shape but it is one that has a mystery about it that keeps you probing with the tip of your pen. With that, I offer this:
There are no small moments,
but how do you prove this
to the hero, or the progressive,
or the chief investments officer?
And how do you convince
your own soul—as you lift
the black plastic bag
from the white plastic bin
and take the hallway
to the stairs
then to the alley—
for the inertia of blood
makes the blue heart slow
to speak the splendour it sees
in snow, in wind, in light, in eyes,
and these left unattended
—their seriousness,
lost to all but the very young—
add to the verdict of
shallow moments.
And now,
there is no way around it
but to lay open and wait:
who knows, in time, with luck
you may burst into flame.
The picture that you posted with the poem is lovely.
ReplyDeleteStephen ~
ReplyDeleteYou always make me stop in my tracks...
first, the reminder to continually come back to, and hold, the truth that has a mystery and keeps us probing with the tip of our pen. (oh my, I love the way you said that.)
Sometimes I'm not even sure I have that truth, that north star, and then I remember. He reminds me, most often in those small, small moments when I least expect it.
Which is why there are no small moments... even the garbage taking moments.
Thanks! And PS... great photo.
Stephen, I could have read only the first line of this and gone away full. But I'm glad I read to the end and can carry the thought with me of my words, these moments, the meshing of the two bursting into flame.
ReplyDeleteThanks Tracy, took the picture on a moon soaked night at my little cabin.
ReplyDeleteThank you Brenda, for writerly encouragement, may your "North star" shine brightly.
Violet, thank you for kind words, means much coming from a poet such as yourself.