Bending

The straight line of our intent

begins to meet the season’s curve —

bracken fern starting to turn,

and trees along the river

Garden plants have given up,

the coming rain too late,

other factors we can’t see

informing them

their time of growth is over

No longer can we count on

stretches of long, sunny days —

they shorten, and the rains

begin to take their place

We will bend, because we have to,

we will find a way,

our intent will weave itself in,

for the circle belongs to us, too.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 8, 2019

This Morning

This morning it felt like fall —

fog through the valley, lifting into powder blue,

night’s chill and sun’s warmth coexisting,

different smells in dampness and in dry places,

readiness in the air

A flock of goldfinches

were very happy with our sunflowers,

exclaiming and conversing 

as they landed, swaying,

on the flower heads

I woke up knowing

the only thing real

is the goodness of everything.

I saw it everywhere,

seeming to rest on things

but actually

being what they are.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 23, 2019

Looking Forward

We stand at the brink of August

and consider the color changes —

grass from green to flaxen,

daisy stalks to brown

Sunflowers dominate the garden,

tomatoes coming in,

red tassels forming on the corn,

unknown peppers in dark green

There will be other years

when we can shepherd this,

when we have time and infrastructure

to tend the land —

for now we’ll do the work

to make us ready for it,

so we can read the signs

and understand.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 31, 2019

Summer Communion

The heat comes on sudden

and the garden

which yesterday looked lush

looks parched,

and our efforts

which yesterday looked ready to fruit

appear to face a desert

But my boots have filled

with daisy petals and grass seed

from my ministrations to the young trees

and there is a deeper communion

that makes me feel

like a watered garden

that does not fear in times of drought

and I will stay here

in this more verdant place

until the world around me

does the same.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 14, 2019

In the afternoon

It may look like I’m weeding

but I’m harvesting — these dandelions

are destined for great things,

performing their wizardry

on crusty ground,

pushing through,

making room for more life

The sun was here briefly,

later the cold wind came through,

but didn’t deter us from harvesting

sweetness and strength

from the field of our connection

and the truth that is with us

wherever we go.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 23, 2019

Working in the yard

My hands still smell like loam

from digging with gloves in the dirt

which came in through the fingertips

settling under my nails —

I’ve scrubbed my hands

and the remaining scent

may be more memory than anything

The best part was the teamwork —

the two of us trying to move the black locust,

all stump and spine, rooted tight against the wall.

The choosing of tools, the digging, the prying,

the leverage applied, the clipping, the sawing

till it finally came free, and you settled it in

while I put tools away

and robins sang bright 

as evening nestled down.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 9, 2019

A Touch of Grace

And if you feel you can’t forgive,

can’t be forgiven,

if barbs from old stings

tear at your flesh,

let that body go —

it was never any more

than just a dream

Whatever scars it has

will melt away, along with

all its trappings of identity.

The memories it holds

that waited to be triggered

will melt as well, giving place

to what has longed to waken

to the touch of grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 30, 2018

The Garden

This is a place where everyone can come

to feel comforted, refreshed, cherished,

this is a garden where you can come

and be affirmed. This is a garden

where your presence is wanted, needed,

this is a garden for tasting peace

Outside the walls, there may be harsh winds,

outside the gate, there may be predators,

but inside, you can feed

on what builds up your spirit,

you can grow strong enough

to venture anywhere.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 10, 2018

In the Garden of Belonging

Let me stay here

in the soft bubbles

of easy laughter

where everything is forgiven

because no harm was ever done

because how could it be?

—Given that we always

have been beloved,

given that we always have walked

in the garden of belonging,

always have owned

the grace to move

softly and deeply

through the landscapes of our lives.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 27, 2018

Escape

The lush green

from so many weeks of rain

pushes at the windows,

invites a quiet escape

from the room of classical music

and the old man dozing and rocking

and too much heat

To where everything is too long

for the well-groomed yard,

too wild for easy tending,

and birds and engines vie for prominence

in the suburban soundscape

and I haven’t really escaped anything

by stepping outside.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 18, 2017

Woman's Way

Four of these lines have been in my head for over 25 years, after I composed them in a bout of bad singing in the car, just having fun. This morning I decided to see if they could be fleshed out to a legitimate song.

Woman’s Way

(a song)

Time and tide wait for no man

but woman flows to fit them in the way she can,

gentle touch over the land

and things that live come eager to her steady hand

She’ll help them grow,

she’ll watch until she knows

the ways to softly, firmly nudge them

as they want to go,

she will provide,

she’ll be a guide,

unafraid of growing with them

she will match their stride

Breathing in, breathing out,

what is speed to the seeds as they sprout?

Each is met in its own time,

so they fulfill the rhythm and the moment’s rhyme

The seasons speak

and she is meek,

she’ll hear their music

all her days and in her sleep.

This is the dance

and this is how we live,

this is the way of woman

and what she will give.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 8, 2017

Open Spaces

My mind is full of open spaces

from the day, from being out in it,

from garden work, its loamy satisfaction

The raspberries and I 

were rough with each other —

I shoved their cane tops into the ground,

they marked my arms with scratches.

We ended with them backbending neatly,

lateral buds poised to grow and fruit

The crows are nesting,

the air is kind

and the evening is stretching out long,

promising excitement for those who seek it,

and sweet dreams for the likes of me.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 31, 2017

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

Pioneers

In time we stopped wishing

we knew someone

who knew the answers,

stopped fearing

we would make terrible, stupid mistakes.

In this place, we are pioneers,

alone in the stature of our own thoughts

As we work

the generous scent of kindness

rises from the land,

blackbirds trill by the pond,

a raven riffs in a nearby forest

while songbirds fill the closer,

lower, places

with their exuberance

What we need to know

will come to us

in the logic of our needs

and in our birthright of belonging.

We find clarity as we listen,

we will fill our place

as surely as all of these.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 30, 2016

Under the Sun

Everything bends to our desires —

trees grow plump fruit

because we ask them to,

leaves yield up

what they know we need

This is true for everything

that walks or flies or swims

in this world —

they are all celebrated

And the plants appreciate

the mobility and immortality

we so easily grant them in return,

spreading their seed.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 18, 2016

Faith

No one else does it for you.

That’s OK —

This holy work

is what you’re made to do.

The you essence,

so pure in your mustard-seed core,

must draw in the life water

that makes it swell,

must split, and multiply

and open out

so bringing forth

everything you are

There is no turning back,

there is no giving up —

once started, your unfoldment

must continue

till you, too, bring forth precious seed,

spreading your blessing

wide across the land.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 27, 2015

Mid September

It’s not quite time

to settle

into the coziness of darker days,

the smell of inside heat

while winds blow outside

and the sun comes just

in scattered, rapid glances,

and rain spatters

and there is no guilt

in staying inside all day

Now the squash have played their hands —

some will roll in flush and full to harvest,

some are banking on a longer season,

their fruits now small and hopeful and daring

And the heart race

of this span of opportunity

pulls me forward —

right to the edge of what I can know,

right to the hungering yearning urge

to keep leaping, one bound after another,

into open space.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 15, 2015

Picking Raspberries

Picking raspberries, I consider

that writing poems is just like this sometimes —

There’s sight involved, but picking

comes down to touch most often —

a gentle grasp that doesn’t bruise the berries,

just firm enough to pull them off,

and knowing to desist if they resist too much,

to wait another day until they ripen

I stoop down to peer beneath the leaves

and spot the hanging red,

then my hand goes in almost blind

to feel if it is ready and to pick it if it is.

Some berries fall apart in my hand,

some years, some are mushy

(but not this crop)

We’ll tend them well to keep them plump

With poems I do the same thing,

with the initial spark, with words,

with images —

I move focused along the canes

and fill my basket.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 15, 2015

A Day Under the Sky

Today my pleasure was

weeds and a shovel,

and a job that required

that I keep on working

long past my usual

sense of endurance,

past being tired,

past making choices —

at the command

of the process at hand,

focus and repetition,

into the place of

not thinking anything

I have certainly earned

the rise and fall of my breathing,

the languor of abandon,

this feeling of being stretched out

like long winter grass

pressing into the earth.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 4, 2015

photo by Edward Mulhern