This may seem infinitely different
but it is all the same,
the binding loops of fear
are not distinct, there is no
relative virtue in the systems
that hold us down — one pathology
is just as haunting
as another
We can find comfort, then, perhaps,
in what we share,
stop putting ourselves down,
forgive each other,
and in the space that makes,
we’ll come to see
it is the same release
that frees us all.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 7, 2020
A soft day —
a day for the lessons of patience,
of things still waiting in winter rain,
the colors that shine
while the brighter ones are gone
I struggled through the morning’s low
to find these — the fruits
of going slow,
slow enough to mute
any opinions
and let the inner structures
take as long as they need to
to speak for themselves.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 6, 2020
Do not be dismayed
at the insanity you see —
the flagrant lies, the bland
denial of what’s known to be
This whole charade
with its elaborate displays
can only lope so far
before it topples
Do not be afraid,
for underneath the bald parade,
Life’s engine hums,
and in the end, life moves itself
the way life wants to go,
and as you nurture it,
it will bloom huge —
there is no lie it will not overthrow.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 4, 2020
There is no part of me
that doesn’t hear
the voice that speaks my name
There is no part of me
that doesn’t answer,
grateful in remembrance,
glad to be reminded
of how I am so intimately known
My tongue prepares
gold tribute in my mouth,
my arms reach out
to hasten the embrace,
my thought body swoops
across the field in joy,
my heart body stays close,
following my breath
Amid the many clamoring voices —
dragon’s breath roar, swift dismissal —
this voice rings so clear
it claims my full attention,
these are the words
I’m happy to repeat.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 3, 2020
And if I can’t play the music
that drenches me
with the presence of beauty,
that flows down my arms
and fills my mouth
and ripples me with shimmers
from the sun
Perhaps this standing in it
is still worth something —
perhaps this gratitude
for its existence,
this rising joy, all-in reverberation
still serves a function —
gives the music someone who believes.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 1, 2020
It’s too dark to see my words
but not too dark to see
how the light falls on the page,
the glow along the center line
where it slopes in, and the orange cast
of the nightlight catching the curve
It was too late to find a poem that night,
shadow shapes showing where the words were
but not enough of thought
to pull it through.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 31, 2020
At some moment of your permission
I step inside your words,
inhabit the image
that you constructed,
a vessel in which I feel
the rush of life
that you put into it
In that moment
it becomes mine, too —
a gift you’ve given me:
Heart body.
The trunks of trees that spoke
in your father’s voice
There is so much offered here —
so much more than conversation —
a boost of brightness
that arcs beyond the words,
warming and strengthening our bond.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 30, 2020
There are so many ways to fall,
so many things to grasp
that just can’t hold you,
so much drama
at how things unravel,
or sag, or crash, or splinter
There are so many songs
that detail how the thing went down,
how it spiraled, how it flailed,
how it sank
We feel the pathos,
for who of us has not fallen,
who of us has not known
the stomach drop, the swift slide,
the quicksand’s implacable suck?
It isn’t known, as much,
what happens after —
the nature of the place where finally,
we land. If people knew of that,
maybe they’d sing of it more often —
the core of gravitas awaiting there.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 28, 2020
The rain outside sings a duet
with the clothes dryer in the other room,
sounds of wetness and of drying
sharing certain similarities,
ticks that are not quite rhythmic,
a repetition of random
Our orbits in the house
intersect sometimes
but mostly we are silent
in our own pursuits,
winding down the evening,
shoring ourselves up
against unraveling.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 27, 2020
Before the day devolves
to winter evening’s sodden dark,
before the sun withdraws
and dusk and rain take over,
let its singularity and freshness make their mark,
let me take in all they have to offer
And let me not forget
the simple happiness
of a place to be,
a place with warmth,
a place with windows,
a place with everything I need
Though unmomentous,
this is not a lesser day,
though unpretentious,
it is still enough.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 26, 2020