everybody i know
what’s the upside of our refusal to let go?
why was before so much better than now?
does letting go mean we’ll just sit down…
stay here forever…
in this less than glamorous corner we find ourselves in?
everybody I know lives on the edge of a page
turning softly as the answers
arrive on the wind
clearing the cloud obscured vision
of our wandering wondering
everybody I know lives on the rocks of an active volcano
hanging onto the burning questions
waiting for the miles to find the nightingale’s broken-hearted love song
sometimes we say things we don’t mean to help us get through this hard moment we stand in
sometimes we truly think we mean these fine words declared so fervently
the heart given so freely
while in bondage to another
until we step into a new chapter and find those words were just our wish to believe
a desperate plea of hoping to find love is still alive
let us hope to find grace when we are the givers and the takers of these gifts
the flamingo shakes her tail feathers
The grackle’s shadow invades our dreams
We keep meeting our own colors in every one of these beauteous spirals
messages left in each dropped exquisite feather on our pathway
patience is a virtue very few are rich enough to pay the humble price to gain
hearts are very fragile when allowed to keep breaking
“Imagine the world of our voices sing out the Sterling news”
Imagine all the people living in light and love within themselves
Imagine what a changed world that would be
what if we were no longer afraid of light shining within us
what if it no longer matters if we live in the now of ourselves
what if we look at the larger question of ‘oughtness’
My God, what happens then??
Amy Lloyd (AL)
Miguel Escobar (m.e.)
Start with your own body,
the small bones of the hands
moving toward the inlets of the fingers.
Wanting it too much invites haste.
You must love what is raw
and hungered for.
Think of the crab cake as the ending,
as you till away at the meat, digging for
errant shells and jagged edges.
Always, it’s a matter of guesswork
but you hold it together
by the simplest of ingredients,
for this is how the body learns to be generous,
to forgive the flaws inherited
and enjoy what lies ahead.
Yet you never quite know
when it happens,
the moment when the lumps
transcend egg and breadcrumbs,
the quiver of oil in a hot pan,
to become unworldly:
the manifold of pleasure
with the sweet ache of crab
still bright on your tongue.
How to Make a Crab Cake by January Gill O’Neill