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| Mom hooking a rug. |
As gifts,
my wordcraft
couldn’t compete
with the homemade scarves
afghans, socks, jam, wooden bowls, and art
crafted by other members of my family.
I knew that, even as I made
tiny books, calendars with my photographs,
and fully designed books of poetry.
Except for my brother and mother,
I don’t know if anyone read them.
But I persisted. I felt the heart
in the other homemade items
and was thrilled to put my heart in mine—
my heartbreak over wars and racism
and climate change refugees and trees,
my heart lifted with the sea and sun and rain
and living and growing beings.
And what did it matter if others lost the gifts
in piles of papers and bookshelves?
These framed poems were gifts to me as well.
I learned to stage my poems between readings,
I learned to get poems out there
overcoming introversion and fear
of being vulnerable, a crippling fear
hidden in shyness, in quietness. And now
I know your poems, too, are gifts of heart
beyond gifting. And I see earth’s poems
on the other side of catastrophe,
a loving heart that doesn’t end.
For Sumana's prompt "Home Made" at What's Going On?
"And now
ReplyDeleteI know your poems, too, are gifts of heart
beyond gifting."...These are our words to you too, Susan. It's beautiful how you've chosen your path different from others and you are thriving making a difference. Love your Mom's photo.
Oh, Susan, the love in this poem lifts my heart, especially your closing lines about Mother Earth's undying love, even as we make her ill. And the thought of that future date, when she will begin to heal. Such a beautiful poem - these poems are gifts of the heart - to others' hearts. I love that you wrote that. This is beautiful.
ReplyDeleteSusan, I prefer gifts with heart, whatever they are. These lines really resonated with me:
ReplyDelete‘I don’t know if anyone read them.
But I persisted. I felt the heart
in the other homemade items
and was thrilled to put my heart in mine’
and
‘what did it matter if others lost the gifts
in piles of papers and bookshelves?
These framed poems were gifts to me as well.’