Waves

I watched the waves come in steady —

for each three breaking, three more would appear.

At every moment, some were ending,

some were forming,

some would break and some just disappeared

I thought of life, of opportunities

as if each were a wave, as if I had to choose,

as if some waves would bring me

the fulfillment that I hoped for,

while other choices might well disappoint

and then I watched the light across the water,

the brightness of the blues, the constancy

of all the pattern, and I knew

what comes into my life is not beholden

on luck or on the choices that I make

Just as all this sea

is given to my eyes, and all this beach,

so all my days are given me, and all their joy —

There are no misses, no crestfallen choices.

The one who gives me life 

has promised goodness, too,

and gives it constantly

throughout my days.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 9, 2016

Black Lives Matter

Black lives matter.

They matter to every

brilliant, bright-eyed, 

brown-skinned child

and to the world they grace,

for their potential for joy,

for discovery, for fervent love

Black lives matter

to every mother, father, brother,

niece — all of the blood connections,

all the humanity,

all the strength developed

through undeserved oppression,

all the courage to stand together

against colossal odds

And Black lives matter

to the poverty of my whiteness,

to the cruelty of a system

which has given me the harsh role

of oppressor

Black lives matter

and if we whites can free ourselves

from our complicity, 

we, too, will taste

some of the sweetness

we’ve been parched for, all these years

We will learn kindness

in ways we’ve never known,

for kindness only thrives

where it can be unbridled, 

unmeasured, unwithheld,

where it flows freely

to wherever there’s a need,

To wherever there’s a bright child

who needs the world to know

her Black life matters,

(and Barbie, not a model for anything,

is just hard plastic)

One Black life can start to set us free.

Black lives matter to me.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 8, 2016

Seasoned

Days come, in their variety,

Everything living jumps into the rounds —

birth and renewal, harvest and rest

We find ourselves seasoned by seasons,

patina’d, weathered,

rising and falling with readiness

for the arc at hand,

new growth superimposed

on the memory of last year’s cycles,

becoming timeless with the ancient breathing

of what returns again, ever new.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 7, 2016

Offering

I will bow down

in order to take off,

I will dip into the slip stream,

I will rise swiftly, pulled up

by the climbing current

Each day, to do this, I will sacrifice:

I will give up my fear.

I will slip it off my neck, over my head,

I will lay it down. Thus unburdened, 

I will be ready for the updraft,

when it comes. I will stretch my arms wide

to take it in, to revel in the sheer expansiveness

of flight

I will remember:

humility is light and pliant —

it is no pain to carry,

it is so much better

than all those splintered beams,

those sharp shards,

those things I used before

to try to build myself

I bow my head

to receive this blessing,

I serve this truth

in order to be free.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 5, 2016

Undersides

Jennifer says we think the same thoughts

all our lives. She says we never really change.

That may be, but still I see

a different view these days,

something like the undersides of leaves,

how light shines through them differently,

lending a softness to their edges, their presence

I think I see things softer now,

with less of an opinion

and more of a willingness

to let the light spill through

however it does, without needing

to be catalogued or edited

I think there’s more shadow

on the underside of my thoughts,

places where grief may gather

and keep itself company,

places for things to be undefined,

against which a days brightnesses

can stand out in relief.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 4, 2016

To Roost

As the sun turns everything golden,

turkeys fly into the firs to roost,

full grown birds with their burden of feathers,

babies, compact and stubby

with necks like dinosaurs,

amazingly fly up, too.

They negotiate themselves

from branch to branch in the stand of trees,

gradually working their way higher

as more clamber in from the adjacent field —

much small peeping,

much loud fluttering —

not bedtime yet,

just time to be safe and high

for the large-family rituals of settling in

before the darkening sky.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 3, 2016

Early Fruits

Smell it first. 

The unmistakeable scent of plum

rises from its smooth surface.

Feel its taut firmness

against your lips

Suck as you bite —

the juicy sweetness

flows into your mouth,

followed immediately

by a complex tang from the skin

It’s only a few bites.

The pulp around the pit

is brightly sour.

The tang of the skin lasts longest,

curling toward the back of your tongue

long after the fruit is gone.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 1, 2016