Spring is taking its time around here . . . just kind of moving in fits and starts.
And, well, that's me, too.
Moving in fits and starts.
So let's just not worry about it -- and have some poetry.
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
April is National Poetry Month, and each year, in April, I celebrate poetry here on my blog . . .hoping to win over some converts to the beauty and peace and accessibility of poetry. Sharing something that brings me joy.
Today's poem was published in Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems, 2017, Grayson Books, and edited by Phyllis Cole-Dar and Ruby R. Wilson. Information about the author can be found here.
My best wishes to all of you . . . for a weekend filled with peace and solace.