I heard the beginning line* below at a conference, and it caught my attention – it’s from Archibald MacLeish’s modern rendition of Job called J.B. And it started this line of thought…
“Blow on the coals of my heart”*
Let not my love grow thin
when weariness wastes the withered will.
Give me the foolish courage to answer (and even ask?) the question:
“Am I still breathing?”
Fogging a mirror that reflects
Mildewed eyes. Let not ‘faith’ become a tired word
A common degradation (that offends
or obscures or absorbs).
Let me grow angrypassionatejoyfuldevastatedoverwhelmed
Hammer the fear that lulls me to sleep
Wake me with a whisper
And let me gulp the wind.
On Thanksgiving Day, I met a 94 year old girl full of life and sparkle and just couldn’t help but write about her:
There’s a history in your face
Every line that
In these few
Moments that I’ve met you
The little joys in the upturned lip
The slight piquant in your nose
in your eyes,
Your daughter’s life
And two marriages in your dimples
“They called me ‘heygood lookin’!'”
And you pinch me
I see the loneliness reaching up but you’ve pressed it down
Shaken it up
Disallowed it in every coursing blue vein
Is difficult, shaky, comes in tiny breaks
But you catch every sound around you
You watch me closely
Your eyes alert
Ready to soak in my life, more life, more
Yours is crowded so beautifully on your face.
Not a Mona Lisa but a joyeux de vivre.