I could feel the rush of tears
behind the smoke, behind the fog,
a smell of sea breeze
providing salt
I wanted them to wash
all the stories down like sand,
to cut through to the place
where pebbles gathered
I wanted us all to have the chance
to start over again,
to bring our regrets to where
we could safely lay them down,
and finally to look clear-eyed upon each other
without fear, without judgment, without masks.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 14, 2020
As easy as a yawn,
as easy as a comfy chair
with plenty of light,
as easy as a conversation
with memories and things to do with hands,
the afternoon and evening settled in
It has been an easy landing
from the place we had to leave,
and easy place to stay inside,
since we have to
We can call it a cocoon for now,
we can get ready
for the time, coming so soon,
to jump back in.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 13, 2020
We won’t talk about hope
before its time.
We won’t talk about rebirth
while there are still hot embers
on the ground.
We will acknowledge
each thing gets what it needs
right when it needs it
Pick up what’s true for you
here on the ground. If it’s mourning,
do it heartily, honestly, wholly.
If it’s gratitude for how important
you now know life to be,
for what you found right under
all the desolation – hold that.
If it’s the life that roars in counter burn
against destruction, then roar with it
as long as that is needed
You may notice, at some time,
the web of care that rushes in,
you may feel a deep relief
that all is not lost.
You may come back with new resolve
and fresh humility
to be a part of this, to deeply live.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 12, 2020
How the situation turned, I see,
is less important
than how my thought is turning —
the still power
that holds beneath the surface,
the calm current
the now dispersing ash reveals
The situation
will pull itself in line,
adjust itself to match the contours
of underlying truth.
It won’t become the truth,
or even truth’s essential measure,
which runs more clear
as these illusions
are washed away.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 11, 2020
Not waiting for something to happen,
not holding my breath to see
how the winds will blow,
how the fire will spread
Any one of us, right now
(and that means me)
has the power to stop
the spread of fear, of fire,
of inflammation
not by saying nevermind,
at least we’re safe,
but by knowing that the safety
of every one of us is in our essence,
the will to live that powers
every aspect of our being
That will commands winds and waves,
and it can say let’s unite,
and it can say here is the wise move
in this moment
and it can say together, we are victorious,
and it can say peace, be still.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 9, 2020
Crying is finally
a way to go home,
or the memory of it,
a way to gather enough waters
to lift you out of the dream,
wash you towards the place
where former memories
have no more weight,
where they just shine
like shafts of light dancing in the deep
They come around
to peer into the pool,
to see it fathomless,
to smile and laugh
at all the glints of it,
to see their grace
now made clear
while silent stones
sink gratefully down and down and down.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 6, 2020
They wanted to be washed clean.
They didn’t want to be the person
they now saw themselves as,
they wanted to take back their choices,
wanted to identify
with the other side,
wanted to be able to come back in,
didn’t know how
And so you had to go to them,
your hand stretched out,
you had to go and wash their feet,
you had to gentle them
one by one,
leave the door open,
wait to see when they’d come in.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 5, 2020
Things float into place. End of summer,
what feels like a pause in effort needed
(though it isn’t, though we have still failed
to run our full race)
Hint of sea breeze mitigates
what was predicted as a scorching day,
all the trees still green,
but fall leaves on the ground
Children on the swings
pump high, swing back …
Folks ride by on bicycles
and behind them I see trailing
a wisp of longing
for the imagined freedom
of being in their place.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 4, 2020
I liked my shadow
walking in front of me
carrying a pail,
wearing a long dress,
long hair loose, blowing in the wind
I liked the late afternoon,
still hot, but rendered pleasant
by our recent swim
I like the sounds of the night –
the crickets there, the traffic here in town –
Life’s subtle adventure
humming behind it all.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 2, 2020
Water over me, water under me,
water in me. This tremble of change,
of reset, of ripple,
of washing everything smooth,
hovers behind my eyes, my nose,
my mouth
There is peace here, and there is hope
in the quiet of crickets,
in the memory of water –
one day’s inundations,
another’s ablutions,
oblations I offer
and images I hopefully receive,
visions which I longingly believe.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 1, 2020