poetry – Page 10 – Salt: Seasoned Theology

How is COVID-19 impacting the environment?

I am intrigued by articles I have seen this week about how the pandemic is slowing down pollution and restoring a measure of peace to the environment. This poem emerged as I began to think about the resilience of creation to “come back” when spaces open up for her.

Perhaps a kind of generative wildness within our own spirits can come out of extinction during these days. Given all of the horrors of this crisis, I hope for this resurrection possibility.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
I call to her–

Wildness.

She is a shy child, eager but afraid
to meet a new friend.

No, that’s not quite right–

She’s been leaning on the door all along?
Waiting–then stumbling into my space

when the portal suddenly swings open?

“Come in, come in. I think we met
once upon a time ago”–

Wildness.

She is in me–sparrow and mockingbird,
wildflower and wilderness wanderer

Yes, that is it–maybe—

“Come on,” she says and reaches out.
“Let’s dance, just for a little while.”

I say “yes”–

unclenching my hands to take hers
while creation sings

Hope.

A poem to begin National Poetry Writing Month. We need poetry in these days of uncertainty. We need music too, and this playful poem celebrates the music my mama instilled in my life.

I was the first-pew alto
in the grown up choir at the
growing up age of seven.
I could read some music
and Grandma could too but the
other singers only sang soprano.

Mama led us from the organ,
silver slippers on her feet, and a
ring bedecked with rubies on her hand.
“Watch me. Count it out. Give me
everything you’ve got.” But even that,
on many Sundays, was really not a lot.

The mockingbird disrupts my thoughts
as I recall those days gone by. “Watch me,”
she cries and flaps her wings.
“Go on and get away.
I’m a mama and I’ve got babies
in your backyard holly tree.”

They say she can sing an orchestra.
She’s a fearless symphony,
like Mama, I think, with our Sunday choir,
she swoops in with all her heart.
And when we faltered as we often did,
mama sang every part.