Making Sense

I try to make sense of things,

I weary of mazes,

My mind keeps running them anyway —

What someone might have thought,

What I did and said, and still could say

I let it go

I pick it up again

Must be a cultural chasm

with no good way to understand —

There can be several explanations

all of which make someone wrong,

There must be some way

to put my mind at rest —

I try to gather us,

I try to see us all as blessed

It comes in moments

It comes in images I feel

Where I’m empowered,

Where I can fly with what is real,

Where I can swoop along the shimmers

on the rising face of waves

And I can see the way we can connect

Not in negotiations, expectations,

Not in how our lives should intersect,

Not in what we owe or what we earn

but in the sense of home

to which we all return.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 13, 2014