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
If stars are pinpricks
in the sheet of night,
if everywhere there is a tear
reveals a burst of light,
if every glimpse of truth
calls forth a clearer sight,
let’s look again to see
what things are made of
Across the waves, across the sky,
in every blink between the views,
there is a place where we can try
to change the focus, find new clues
To rip the veil, to see beyond
the playbook written for our lives,
to where the wonder cracks the seams
and wells up in our hearts and minds,
and from our gait within the rhythmic beat
we have to stop
because this life is far more brilliant
than what we could describe.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 25, 2020
I’m not waiting
for something to happen
(nothing ever comes about that way)
I’m coming back instead
to guard my citadel
(which, before this, I didn’t even know I had)
A citadel that I can furnish
with warm lights
and soft corners to inhabit,
with knowledge of the truth imparting sacred peace
And when it’s set, and when it’s centered,
when it’s clear,
I can invite others in,
I can bring them in to share
this all transforming calm.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 23, 2020
Every life has some deserts in it.
So I start with this — wind driven sand,
searing dry heat
and the sweeping of everything
till it’s bleached clean
I’ll start with this,
fighting my words back
to the starting point
through the cluttered
piles of mundanities
back to where the pure essence gleams
I start here in this desert
because of how clear
across the bones and rock
rings the voice of God.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 22, 2020
I have no skills
to bring to the table
I have no table
to bring anything to
I didn’t learn
in all my years
to make connections
that could pull any strings
And yet I’m pulling
with any breath I can align,
with any thoughts that I can think,
to reinforce the patterns
I hope to see emerge
I’ll pray for justice,
I’ll pray to see integrity
rise up in people
who were self serving
up till now
I’ll pray we all will see each other
by our lights and not our flaws
and see a way for true direction
for our land.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 21, 2020
You won’t find this answer
in the room of comparison —
it will expose the sensitive film,
and the image
that would rise up in the still darkness
of your own concentration
will be flooded out,
the alchemy aborted
You will find this answer
only as you learn
to close everything out
except the micro movements
of the present moment
as they unfold in timelessness
In that moment
(who can say how long it takes —
days? years? decades?)
you will see.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 20, 2020
The lady I stayed with
(long time ago)
had little notes to herself
on her dresser —
reminders to keep going,
to look again for the joy of life,
to hold herself
against the drift of sadness
This I took note of,
though I had no place to put it
and no way to even relate,
various chasms
(at that time)
rendering it impossible
for us to know each other
I might know more now,
be able and willing
to bridge the gap
into which fell
all referents of recognition,
and also the knowledge
which we didn’t mention but probably shared
that I was the same age
her dead son would have been.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2020