a chance of thunder,
a momentary glow,
last sun gleaming
on a boat’s white hull
Memory offers
people hardly even listening
while waiting to be seen,
to be heard, to be known
Wisdom intones
No one needs coaching
on how to be.
It’s never right to ask,
how are you doing
at learning to forgive?
I must honor
the cloak of respect,
must honor your quiet space,
big enough for you to twirl around in,
big enough for you to turn three times
to make a nest of long grasses
in which to sleep,
big enough to fling yourself down,
to howl, to moan, to cry,
or not. It’s OK for you to just sit there, too.
It isn’t mine to pry.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 18, 2016
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