As night closed in

It’s too dark to see my words

but not too dark to see

how the light falls on the page,

the glow along the center line

where it slopes in, and the orange cast

of the nightlight catching the curve

It was too late to find a poem that night,

shadow shapes showing where the words were

but not enough of thought

to pull it through.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 31, 2020

Word Vessels

At some moment of your permission

I step inside your words,

inhabit the image 

that you constructed,

a vessel in which I feel

the rush of life

that you put into it

In that moment 

it becomes mine, too —

a gift you’ve given me:

Heart body.

The trunks of trees that spoke

in your father’s voice

There is so much offered here —

so much more than conversation —

a boost of brightness

that arcs beyond the words,

warming and strengthening our bond.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 30, 2020

What People Sing About

There are so many ways to fall,

so many things to grasp

that just can’t hold you,

so much drama

at how things unravel,

or sag, or crash, or splinter

There are so many songs

that detail how the thing went down,

how it spiraled, how it flailed,

how it sank

We feel the pathos,

for who of us has not fallen,

who of us has not known

the stomach drop, the swift slide,

the quicksand’s implacable suck?

It isn’t known, as much,

what happens after —

the nature of the place where finally,

we land. If people knew of that,

maybe they’d sing of it more often —

the core of gravitas awaiting there.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 28, 2020

Winding Down

The rain outside sings a duet

with the clothes dryer in the other room,

sounds of wetness and of drying

sharing certain similarities,

ticks that are not quite rhythmic,

a repetition of random

Our orbits in the house

intersect sometimes

but mostly we are silent

in our own pursuits,

winding down the evening,

shoring ourselves up

against unraveling. 

©Wendy Mulhern

January 27, 2020

A lesser day

Before the day devolves

to winter evening’s sodden dark,

before the sun withdraws

and dusk and rain take over,

let its singularity and freshness make their mark,

let me take in all they have to offer

And let me not forget

the simple happiness 

of a place to be,

a place with warmth, 

a place with windows,

a place with everything I need

Though unmomentous,

this is not a lesser day,

though unpretentious,

it is still enough. 

©Wendy Mulhern

January 26, 2020

Ripping the Veil

If stars are pinpricks 

in the sheet of night,

if everywhere there is a tear

reveals a burst of light,

if every glimpse of truth

calls forth a clearer sight,

let’s look again to see 

what things are made of

Across the waves, across the sky,

in every blink between the views,

there is a place where we can try

to change the focus, find new clues

To rip the veil, to see beyond

the playbook written for our lives,

to where the wonder cracks the seams

and wells up in our hearts and minds,

and from our gait within the rhythmic beat

we have to stop

because this life is far more brilliant

than what we could describe.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 25, 2020

Citadel

I’m not waiting

for something to happen

(nothing ever comes about that way)

I’m coming back instead

to guard my citadel

(which, before this, I didn’t even know I had)

A citadel that I can furnish

with warm lights

and soft corners to inhabit,

with knowledge of the truth imparting sacred peace

And when it’s set, and when it’s centered,

when it’s clear,

I can invite others in,

I can bring them in to share

this all transforming calm.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 23, 2020