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| This photo by Sergey N. is paired with my poem, “On Meeting Strangers.” |
In the manner of lovely, inexplicable things, three of my poems appeared this month in three lovely places. A month of gratitude, for sure. Enjoy!
“The Light Inside” in Rust + Moth
“On Meeting Strangers” in Ekstasis
“Then” in Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts
As I finish compiling a collection of poems, I’ve had to let many things go, including some grand quotes about trees. Since I can’t squeeze all of these beautiful bits into the book, I thought I’d share some here:
The one who’s lying on his back under tall trees
is also up there within them.
— Tomas Tranströmer, “Breathing Space, July”
The trees spoke of patience.
— Suzanne Simard, Finding the Mother Tree
[I]n the language of trees there’s no grammatical mood: questions, statements, or commands—it’s all song, stripped of anything like judgement, intention, or need.
—Carl Phillips, Then the War and Selected Poems
Day brings what is going to be. Trees—
wherever they are—begin to stand.
— William Stafford, “Letting You Go”
But blessed are those who trust in the Lord
and have made the Lord their hope and confidence.
They are like trees planted along a riverbank,
with roots that reach deep into the water.
Such trees are not bothered by the heat
or worried by long months of drought.
Their leaves stay green,
and they never stop producing fruit.
—Jeremiah 17:7-8 NLT
When we built this house, I sprinkled a packet of wildflower seeds beneath the front patio. The first spring, mostly zinnias grew up. Last year, mostly poppies. This year, all Brown-Eyed Susans and some wild green thing that went to seed and grew taller than I.
I marvel at how what begins in darkness keeps reaching for the light. From seed to sky, may we keep reaching.
Blessings of Light to you,
Anna
Thirty-three years, you held up—
while my arms held high-school books,
tropical shells, college art supplies,
graduate thesis poems, European
train tickets, shovels and rakes,
my first love and my last.
Thank you for waiting to tear—
until unwearable—until
I’d learned to hold each moment
with a sturdy gratitude.
