We Look with Uncertainty – Anne Hillman

We look with uncertainty
beyond the old choices for
clear-cut answers
to a softer, more permeable aliveness
which is every moment
at the brink of death;
for something new is being born in us
if we but let it.
We stand at a new doorway,
awaiting that which comes…
daring to be human creatures,
vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love.

We Look With Uncertainty

Uncertainty is a hallmark of these times as we look to a softer, more permeable aliveness beyond our old ways of being. And something new is being born in us / if we but let it. Yes, this is our opportunity, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to the beauty of existence. In this vulnerability, we can learn to love, to be alive as we have not fully done until now.

Part of my new normal is a desire to reach out to others more than ever.

This is a time for poetry, poems which bring comfort and which challenge, both of which are called for in these ‘interesting’ times.

To that end, I will post a new poem each week, indefinitely.

It has always been difficult to choose a single poem each month anyway given the infinite number that exist from which to choose.

There are many new offerings related to this pandemic but it is the many written well before this time that surprise and energize me with their prescient voices.

In this strange new world in which we are now living, we are being called upon to do many things, primarily to think and behave differently.

It is my hope that even one of these remarkable poems will speak to you, hear you, guide you as we go forward into this uncertain future.

Perhaps the World Ends Here – Joy Harjo

 The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

Perhaps the World Ends Here 

This title may seem apocalyptic given the current state of world affairs but this poem was published in 1994 (since June 2019, Harjo has been the first native American U.S. poet laureate). This one has been on my mind even before the virus erupted, for its touching and universal imagery of the beauty of humanity.

No matter what, we must eat to live. Who can argue with this? And to say The world begins at a kitchen table seems a reasonable association to make, does it not? Since time out of mind, The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. Can you picture your own first family kitchen table? Mine was scuffed pine, painted turquoise, my mother’s favourite colour. What foods nourished you there?

Harjo recalls the many events that take place around such a table, joys and sorrows, births and deaths, prayers of thanks. We nurture our children here; we dream and gossip over coffee; it provides shelter from rain and sun; we hide and celebrate here. In other words, life goes on in all its mundane and essential forms. 

So it has been since creation, and it will go on. It is going on right now in kitchens all over the world as we struggle to understand what is happening around us, as we slow down and retreat from the chaos that life has become for many of us. So sit at your kitchen table today and recall all that it has witnessed and know that should the world end here, we will be laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

May you be safe. May you be well.