Pre-Dawn

Morning has its faithfulness,

and even before dawn

as the gibbous moon still shines,

the turkeys are set off

by any other sound — the geese,

another flock of turkeys,

tiny songbirds, the occasional duck

Even before dawn

cars and trucks are trundling

down Marcola road along the river

We are up earlier

than our rustic lives would order,

preparing for errands in town

and to get back to planting

before the rain.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 13, 2020

Seed

Left once again

in the detritus of dysphoria,

ripped, deflated,

rendered helpless by its flat words

(give up, you can’t do it

and you don’t want to anyway

(take that palliative, don’t complain)

you don’t have whatever it may take

and don’t deserve to either)

You are not alone,

and though you feel

no one could approach you,

look again

As you let the stillness sweep you

as the ebbing wave subsides,

you will sense, inside, a tiny seed,

its threadlike roots extending,

pulling you together

till the sprout can lift its head

It will tell you

nothing overcomes you —

you will blossom, and your voice will soar,

you’re made of life —

that old voice isn’t —

it falls to dust, but you,

you still shine clear.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 7, 2020

Reins

Here is a dream of sweet movement,

something to find in the time

before attempted sleep,

something to bind myself to,

to embody, to walk in the steps

in which my feet rejoice

Here before lethargy paints

a bland blank wall,

let life bound up in me

and take the reins.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 6, 2020

The needed touch

This fierceness is needed,

for to allow the stain

to fall on anyone,

to let it shame them,
to let it shape them,

is an injustice

that can’t be allowed

This tenderness is needed,

for the washing clean

must deftly leave

all natural color intact —

all of it needed

to form the spectrum

expressing the wholeness of life.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 5, 2020

My Daily Belief

Time and again, I have to ask myself,

What do I believe? And under that,

What must I believe to allow me

to believe what I believe?

And are those underpinnings solid —

can I stand on them?

If not, let them fall away

along with everything built up on them.

Let my belief stand

on the ground of truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 3, 2020

The present ground

I keep finding myself going back

to the image of the blessed ground

and how, before anything has yet appeared,

the light plays on it,

and in that light, a silent warble,

a bright impulse of joy,

a calm

In that calm, the sweet assurance —

the presence of the law that guides all growth,

the way that everything that is

shares all these properties —

all that develops

will always bring them forth.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 2, 2020

Temporal Tumbling

I reflect on the present times

when I’ve run afoul of the temporal —

burning the chicken,

letting mold destroy the car —

things are fine

until the moment when they’re not,

and then there is no turning back

All things temporal

can tumble …

There is a grace that rides along the top

of all events,

and cooks things perfectly,

and cares for all things well,

and, centered in the present,

is not slave

to how things fall

And though I stand here in this shambles

(such a mess to reckon with)

my next step

is not from here.

All things in time fall down

but grace will stand me on the ground.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 1, 2020