We get tumbled together again,
where the web of grief
catches us up in its snare –
not the whole of us, but certain aspects,
such that we move through the day in a fog,
trying to work as usual,
going so much slower
Things clear up a bit
at end of day –
we find some comfort
in our togetherness,
we find some peace within the progress
we tortuously trundled through to.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 31, 2020
At the time of healing
grief leaks out the corners,
spills down, becomes a river
like to wash you right away
Let it go, let it go –
this is something more ancient
than all of your lifetime,
more elemental
than every regret you have borne
Let it go – it wants to flow away,
wants to be a cleansing,
wants you to know
that you have never been a tool of sorrow –
all those stories
are washed clean with forgiveness
and you are free.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 30, 2020
I’m asked to have courage,
and so I ask for courage.
I’m told it’s up to me
to do my work
It’s not a hard thing I am asked,
but it’s essential –
to stand true in my faith,
to not be swayed by signs and stories
telling me of failure,
to look to my good for the evidence
of what my life is made of
I am asked to be strong,
but not with a strength I have to fabricate,
I’m asked to be true –
true to the source of my being.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 29, 2020
Our hearts burn because
we all recognize
the truth when we hear it
It sits deep within us
and speaks in the place
where there’s no room for doubt,
speaks in the voice of
what we have always known,
silent, yet unassailable
Our hearts burn
because the truth’s light
reveals their depth –
they shine up its reflection
like moonlight in the bottom of a well.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 28, 2020
A book comes in the mail.
The question: do I cleave firm
to obligations and to duties,
do I make sure that everything
is tucked into place? The better
to charge into tomorrow,
get things accomplished
while it’s cool? Do I fulfill
my daily discipline?
Or do I drop everything
and read?
©Wendy Mulhern
August 27, 2020
Unlike tomatoes, competence grows
without regard to seasons.
It may have cycles,
like roots extending underground,
where it is growing steady but unseen,
a skill then suddenly emerging as a new tool
Or it may be like adolescent roosters,
whose early crows are rough
and oddly off key,
who still persist till various refinements
crow forth, though intermittently
No coach, no teacher
tells them what their crow needs,
but after many, many calls
they gain more confidence.
So, too, my competence may find
its early-rising, clear strong calling.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 26, 2020
This morning the tomatoes told me
not to expect they wouldn’t notice
the year’s curve – how cold it was
in the early morning,
how the stretch of sun and heat
was shorter, how if I had wanted
a bumper crop, I should have done better
on the early side of the season,
should have given them
more high summer to work with.
As it is, they told me,
some of them will ripen.
Just maybe not as many
as I had hoped.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 25, 2020
There’s a hollow, today, in the place
where I expected to find a poem –
perhaps dug out by yesterday’s torrents,
or the mice that decimated my melons,
or the larger rodent
who did in my brussels sprouts
And though the day has had its good things,
they haven’t, apparently, filled the gap entirely.
Twilight flows into its emptiness
and settles like a pool.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 24, 2020
When you can be completely sure
you are comprised
of what you love, exclusively,
no more, no less
When you can recognize Infinity
and how it wells up
through the cracks of every story
you have told yourself
Then you will shift your focus to the light,
and what before seemed so complex
will flatten like a silhouette,
while all your love will fill your sight,
and you will know
exactly what you’re here for,
and be blessed.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 22, 2020
It only takes one day
for us to start believing
in summer’s end –
some clouds and wind,
the possibility of night rain –
and we notice
a different tone across the fields –
though they are parched and seem set
for unremitting dryness,
a siege span they must cross
before the rains come,
some of the yellow is also
leaves starting to turn
here and there,
leaves falling and drifting in the wind,
getting ready
We are not ready,
but that has never
made any difference.
We will be there with it
when it comes.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 21, 2020